


Inadvisable

by Elvesinmyheart, queenofkadara



Series: An Unquenchable Flame: Solas and Nare Lavellan (for Elbenherz) [7]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Age Difference, All of the Ancient Elf Boyband™ get a romance arc and A HAPPY ENDING, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dom Solas (Dragon Age), Drama & Romance, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mildly Dubious Consent, Professor Solas AU, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, dubcon due to the professor-student relationship, the Thedas equivalent of marijuana lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 331,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesinmyheart/pseuds/Elvesinmyheart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Nare has a crush on her Master’s supervisor. She knows it’s a total cliché, and she knows she shouldn’t be flirting with him. But there’s just something about Professor Solas that she can’t resist. Fortunately — or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it — it seems that Professor Solas can’t resist her, either.Athera finally got her dream job as a research coordinator at the University of Orlais’s infamous Ancient Elvhen Studies lab. It’s just too bad that the program director, Professor Abelas, is such a traditional stick in the mud. Too bad that he’s so good-looking, too.After following Nare and Athera to Orlais, Tamaris spends most of her time brooding at home. It takes a chance encounter with a mischievous Arlathani elf named Felassan to bring her out of the apartment and out of her shell.***********************In short: modern-day university AU with romance arcs for all three members of the Ancient Boyband™: Solas, Abelas and Felassan. There will be NSFW smut for all couples.NOTE: Solas and Nare will be in a sexual relationship while he is her thesis supervisor. If you are uncomfortable about the inherent power dynamic, this fic is not for you.
Relationships: (Three different Lavellans just to be clear), Abelas/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Felassan/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: An Unquenchable Flame: Solas and Nare Lavellan (for Elbenherz) [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625761
Comments: 1976
Kudos: 253





	1. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a few notes before we begin! 
> 
> \- The idea for this fic was gifted to me by [@elbenherzart,](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) who is also the supremely divine artist for this fic. Nare Lavellan is her OC. Tamaris and Athera Lavellan are my OCs.  
> \- This fic will jump between six POVs: Nare, Athera, Tamaris, Solas, Abelas, and Felassan. POV will be labelled with convenient section headings. 🤓  
> \- I'm assuming some of you guys have read some of my work already, so you might know that I have written canon universe fics for each of these pairings already: Solas/Nare is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625761), Abelas/Athera is [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1115607), and Felassan/Tamaris are [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917965/chapters/60301081) That being said, none of the pre-existing relationships in my canon universe fics are present in this fic. In particular, Tamaris and Solas have no history in this fic, and Nare [has not had a foursome with the three men.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396210/chapters/53509339) LOL. So we are starting fresh with all three couples, where none of the boys know any of the girls.  
> \- Age differences. 😂 I assume this doesn't bother you if you're a Solavellan, but just in case, everyone's age in this fic is as follows: Solas (42) and Nare (28), Abelas (40) and Athera (27), Felassan (32) and Tamaris (30).  
> \- Solas and Nare's eventual smut will include some mild kinks: hair pulling, spanking, light dom/sub. The usual fare for these two, if you read my canon universe fic. 😉

###  NARE 

Nare swept her hair into a tidy ponytail, then gave her face one last critical look before stepping out of her bedroom. She tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door across from her own. “Tamaris?” she called. “Are you–”

“I’m coming,” Tamaris grunted. “Give me two fucking minutes.”

Nare smirked at Tamaris’s customary early-morning surliness, then padded quietly down the hall to the living room. Athera was waiting pertly on the couch with a half-finished cup of tea in her hands, and she grinned at Nare as she approached. 

“She’s awake, at least?” Athera asked.

“Awake enough,” Nare said drolly. She sat next to Athera and tucked her legs up on the couch. “Are you nervous about your first day?”

Athera laughed. “Me? Nervous? Of course not! Just a normal first day doing this job for the first time in the only Ancient Elvhen Studies program in the entire country. What’s to be nervous about?”

Nare sympathetically eyed her friend’s bright smile. She didn’t blame Athera for being nervous. Athera had been looking for a research coordinator position for years. Her new job at the University of Orlais was well-earned, in Nare’s opinion, and it was just a stroke of happy fortune that Athera was starting her job at the same time that Nare was starting her Master’s of fine arts with U of O’s prestigious — and infamous — Ancient Elvhen Studies program. 

It was also serendipitous that Tamaris had decided she wanted a change of pace and place, resulting in the three girls splitting the rent on a cozy three-bedroom-plus-studio apartment close to the university.

“Don’t be nervous,” Nare said warmly. “It’s going to be great! By the end of the week, the director will be wondering how they lived without you making the whole lab twice as efficient.”

Athera grimaced and ran a hand through her hair long chestnut hair. “I don’t know. Professor Abelas did _not_ sound that impressed with my lack of experience during the phone interview. I’m still surprised I got the job.”

“He probably thinks he can train you up fresh since you’re so-called ‘inexperienced’,” Nare said knowingly. “He’ll see how good you are in two seconds. I’m sure of it.”

Athera smiled at her. “Aw, you’re sweet. I bet you’re going to impress your new supervisor just as much when you meet with him tomorrow.”

“I hope so,” Nare said. But her belly jolted at the mention of Solas. 

_Professor Solas,_ she reminded herself. Just because she had a crush on her new supervisor’s voice didn’t mean she could start thinking of him in an informal way before they’d even met. 

Oh, but he had such a _gorgeous_ voice. The majority of her communication with Professor Solas had been via email, but the one time they’d spoken on the phone… _Fenedhis,_ Nare couldn’t get it out of her mind. His voice was smooth and mild like a hot vanilla latte, with a curl of an Elvhen accent that made something shiver in her belly in a very visceral way. She was still surprised that she’d managed to keep her calm and sound like a reasonable and intelligent person after hearing Professor Solas’s first few words floating into her ear through the phone. 

And that was just from hearing him talk about the Elvhen art stream of the program and the opportunities for exhibiting her work in the galleries in Val Royeaux. Imagine if he ever spoke to her in that beautiful smooth voice about other, less professional things… 

_Stop it,_ she scolded herself silently. She was being so stupid and horny, developing a crush on a man purely for his voice. Well, not just his voice: he was incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, and strong-willed to the point of stubborn as well, if his academic position papers were anything to go by. But if Nare was being honest, his intelligence wasn’t the main thing that had been keeping her up at night for the past couple of months since she and Solas had last spoken on the phone. 

It was stupid to be thinking such carnal things about his voice, though. She didn’t even know what he looked like — not for a lack of trying to find out, if she was perfectly honest. She’d searched online for a photo of her soon-to-be supervisor, but he didn’t have a faculty photo anywhere on the U of O website, and a Google search had been shockingly unhelpful, leaving Nare with only a blank slate to imagine along with that knicker-melting voice. 

“Nare, you okay?” Athera said.

Nare jolted slightly, then smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

Athera gave her a shrewd look. “Something tells me I’m not the only one who’s nervous.”

“I thought you weren’t nervous,” Nare teased.

Athera grinned, but Tamaris’s grumpy voice interrupted before Athera could reply. “You guys have nothing to be nervous about. You’re going to impress the shit out of everyone. Now let’s go get some coffee already.” She wandered over to the door and started jamming her feet into her scuffed black motorcycle boots. 

Nare exchanged a smirk with Athera, then popped up from the couch. “Good morning, _lethallan,_ ” she crooned. 

Athera giggled and hugged Tamaris’s arm. “Good morning,” she sing-songed.

Tamaris groaned. “Fuck off, both of you. I’m only awake this early because I have a client in an hour.” 

“Wait, is it already nine?” Athera said in alarm. She checked her watch, then squeaked. “Oh shoot! Oh shoot, I’m supposed to meet Abelas at the office in fifteen minutes!” She shoved her feet onto a pair of flats and grabbed her bag, then flung open the door. “Bye! Have a good one!” she yelled, and she bolted down the stairs. 

Nare smiled at Tamaris. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”

“Lucky you,” Tamaris drawled. “You get to suffer my morning-gremlin attitude all alone.”

Nare chuckled, and they made their way down the stairs at a more measured pace and wandered toward their favourite café at the end of the block. 

It was a perfect crisp early-September day. The sun was a lovely warm wash of light, and the air was fresh and cool without being cold. The leaves hadn’t started changing colours yet, but the quality of their verdancy was starting to shift from the lush springlike undertones of blue to the more autumn-like undertones of yellow. When Nare pointed this out to Tamaris, Tamaris huffed in amusement.

“That’s such an artist-y thing to say,” she said. 

Nare gave her a chiding look. “You say that like you aren’t an artist yourself.” She pointedly eyed the delicate vallaslin that curled around Tamaris’s left eye — vallaslin that Tamaris had carefully tapped into her own skin, and the same skills which had imbued Nare and Athera with their vallaslin as well.

“I don’t often work with colour, though,” Tamaris said. 

“Isn’t your client this morning for a coloured tattoo?”

“Yeah, but that’s different than painting,” Tamaris pointed out. 

“Your tattoo work is amazing, though,” Nare said.

Tamaris smirked. “Fine. We’re both amazing artists with mind-blowing skills. Are you going to buy my coffee for me because I’m so awesome?”

“I’m the student here,” Nare said with a grin. “You should be buying _me_ coffee.”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed. “Fine. Just this once though, you leech.” She pulled open the café door and gestured sarcastically for Nare to enter before her.

Nare chuckled and slid into the café. They placed their orders together, then sat at a sunny table to enjoy their coffee and fresh scones — vegan blueberry for Nare, and lemon-glazed for Tamaris. 

Nare took the lid off of her cup and blew on her coffee. “So you’re coming to the start-of-year mixer tonight, right?”

Tamaris slumped in her seat and shoved a hand through her lush midnight curls. “Explain again why you want me to come to this mixer thing. I’m not a student.”

“It doesn’t matter that you’re not a student,” Nare said. In truth, she just wanted to get Tamaris out of the apartment before she started forming roots.

“It kind of does,” Tamaris said flatly. “It’s happening at the campus bar.”

“Lots of non-students go to the campus bar,” Nare pointed out. “It’s a nice bar.”

Tamaris grunted. Nare leaned toward her slightly. “Come on, Tam,” she wheedled. “Come to the mixer. Athera’s coming.”

“She works at the university now,” Tamaris pointed out. “It makes sense for her to go.”

Nare wilted. “What else are you going to do if you stay home?”

Tamaris’s reply was prompt. “I’ll rewatch _The Archdemon Rises 3_ for the fifth time and paint my nails.”

Nare declined to mention that Tamaris’s eggplant-purple manicure was still intact since she’d last done her nails two days ago. Instead, she widened her eyes pleadingly. “Please come? We’ll make a girls’ night of it. It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

Tamaris eyed her stonily for a moment, then sighed. “Ugh, you and your baby blues. Fine, I’ll come.” 

Nare beamed at her and took a bite of her scone. A leisurely half-hour later, they stepped out of the café.

Tamaris stretched her arms over her head. “All right, I’m headed home,” she said with a yawn. “You sure you don’t want to wait until tomorrow so we can go to that museum exhibit together?”

Nare shook her head. “I want to see it before my meeting with my supervisor tomorrow.”

Tamaris smirked. “Hoping to impress him with your up-to-date knowledge of the local art scene, huh?”

Nare poked her playfully. “Yes, okay? I want to make a good first impression.”

“You’ll be fine,” Tamaris said. “You always make a good first impression.”

Tamaris’s tone was dry, and Nare gazed fondly at her seemingly standoffish friend. “Thanks,” she said sincerely. “I’ll see you later.” 

Tamaris nodded and headed back to the apartment, and Nare turned in the opposite direction toward the modern art museum. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped open her browser to check the price of tickets for the special neo-Avvar exhibit; she was fairly sure she’d get a discounted admission with her student ID, but some of the museum’s special exhibits were even free for students, and Nare couldn’t remember if— 

She suddenly slammed right into someone. 

She stumbled back, then squeaked in alarm as she tripped over an uneven crack in the sidewalk. Her phone dropped from her fingers, and she grabbed for it even as she tried to find her footing, oh no oh shit she was going to fall down–

A strong pair of hands grabbed her arms, and Nare gasped as she regained her balance. “Shit,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry, I – my phone, I was distracted…”

“The fault is mine. I apologize.” 

A heated ripple of recognition spilled down her spine. _That voice._ She knew that voice. She’d been replaying that voice in her head for months and wondering what the person who owned that voice looked like: how tall he was, how big his hands were, what his lips looked like shaped around the liquids vowels of that divine Arlathani accent… 

Lightheaded with disbelief, her heart in her throat, Nare lifted her eyes to his face.

Her breath left her in a punch of shock. Gorgeous. He was _gorgeous._ An impeccably shaven head, a mere hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes which put him somewhere in his late 30s or early 40s, lush lips with a perfect cupid’s bow, a delicate divot in his chin and a jawline sharp enough to cut, and his eyes… 

His eyes were perfectly lucid, a perfect quixotic blend of light grey and pale blue that Nare couldn’t quite name, and they were so _warm_. His eyebrows were creased with a hint of concern, and when the crease in his brow deepened, she realized that she was staring.

“Are you all right?” Professor Solas said. 

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Which was a good thing, because the only words Nare could think were _you are fucking hot._

She nodded dumbly. A tiny hint of a smile curled the left corner of his lips, and he released her arms. “I apologize for the collision,” he said, and he crouched down to pick up his book and her phone. “I should know better than to read and walk at the same time.” 

Nare watched stupidly as he rose to his full height. _Fenedhis,_ he was tall.

He held out her phone, and Nare carefully studied his face. There was no recognition there. There was warmth in his handsome face, but no recognition. He didn’t know who she was. 

Not that she would necessarily expect him to, since he was a professional and an intellectual, and professional intellectuals probably didn’t online-stalk their new grad students to find out what they looked like. 

She took her phone with trembling fingers and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “You are not hurt, I hope?” 

Ugh, he was so good-looking. Why did her supervisor have to be her exact ideal physical type?

She dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I — no. I’m fine,” she said in a tiny voice. 

“Good,” he said. “And again, I apologize for the collision.” 

She shrugged and tried to nod at the same time, then wanted to smack herself for being so fucking awkward.

“Take care,” he said. A moment later, he was walking away from her. 

She finally dragged in a breath and watched greedily as Professor Solas walked away. For someone who had such a mild voice and such kind eyes, his gait was certainly confident. 

Confident and sexy. 

Nare blew out a breath and forced herself to turn away. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? Why was her heart beating so hard, not just in her chest but in her entire body? 

Why was her mind completely taken over by the thought of Professor Solas stretching her naked body out on a desk, those warm grey-blue eyes scanning her from head to toe before he taught her all kinds of torrid lessons that she would never forget? 

_Fuck,_ she thought desperately. _I am in so much trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your flawless artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	2. Competent Professional

###  ATHERA 

Athera ran all the way from the apartment to the University of Orlais. Thankfully, it was only a twenty-minute walk, and by running she was able to cut the travel time almost in half. Still, showing up at her new job all sweaty and out of breath had _not_ exactly been her plan.

She skidded to a stop in front of the history building and paused and to catch her breath. When she was no longer huffing and puffing like a bronto, she straightened up and smoothed back her hair. “Okay,” she muttered to herself. “You can do this. You’re a competent professional woman. They hired you for a reason.” No matter that she’d never actually worked as a research coordinator before. 

Sure, she’d done all the duties of a research coordinator during the last couple years of working in Professor Kenric’s lab at Kirkwall University, but technically she’d still been a research assistant and not the coordinator, even if Kenric’s actual coordinator had been useless most of the time. 

Athera squared her shoulders. _I’m done with that,_ she told herself. _I’m the coordinator now._ She would be taking her new job super seriously, and she wasn’t going to be forcing any of the research assistants to do her work for her. 

“You’ll be the best research coordinator Professor Abelas has ever had,” she told herself quietly. She quickly checked her watch — two minutes to spare, thank the Creators — and thus boosted, she made her way up the stairs and into the history building. 

She headed down the east wing, following the shiny new signs for the Ancient Elvhen Studies program. The program was relatively new at the University of Orlais, having only been established about five years ago. Even in that short time, it had become both famous and controversial. The Ancient Elvhen Studies program was technically part of U of O’s history department, but even that placement had been something of a controversy since the program encapsulated a range of disciplines including history, art, literature, and even traditional healing. 

When the University of Arlathan had finally agreed to collaborate with U of O, the Dean had originally wanted the program to be part of the school of fine arts. But Athera had heard that Professor Solas, Nare’s new supervisor, had insisted that they be situated in the department of history, and had refused to work at U of O unless the placement was made. 

Athera had also heard that Professor Solas had a reputation for being… mercurial, for lack of a better word. Aside from his impressive credentials and his famous fresco work, there was shockingly little personal information about him on the internet. Student reviews fluctuated between compliments like ‘he knows the answer to everything even though he’s an arts prof’ and complaints such as ‘he never gives an A’, studded with a few scathing reports that he could be a downright asshole when people asked questions that he thought were stupid. 

But Professor Solas wasn’t the one that Athera was worried about. Professor Abelas, the program’s director and the head professor of literature and history, was the one that Athera would be directly answering to, and he was the one that she most wanted to impress. 

She still remembered their phone interview with a certain amount of trepidation. She was pretty sure she hadn’t said anything stupid, and she’d made sure to not talk too fast so she didn’t sound nervous, but Abelas’s tone still sounded faintly disapproving the whole time. 

_Maybe that’s just how he always sounds,_ she thought. She hoped that he didn’t always sound that way, since it wouldn’t exactly be fun to work with someone who always sounded slightly disappointed with everything she said.

In any case, it was sure to be an interesting job.

A minute later, she was facing the door to the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab. She took a deep breath — _you’ve got this, you’re a competent professional,_ she told herself — then pushed open the door. 

The lab space was pretty standard university fare: a main area with a large meeting table, filing cabinets and heavily laden bookshelves around the edges of the wall, a couple of impressively tidy common-workspace desks, and a small kitchenette. Two short hallways branched off of the main room toward the east and west, and there were three people sitting at the meeting table: two elves, and to Athera’s surprise, a dwarf. 

They looked up at Athera’s entry. Athera smiled and tried not to look awkward. “Hi there,” she said. “I’m Athera, the new research coordinator.”

The petite elven woman hopped up from her seat. “Oh, another Dalish, how lovely!” she chirped. “ _Andaran atishan!_ Come on in, Professor Abelas will be expecting you, he’s just in his office.” She hurried around the table with her hand outstretched. “I’m Merrill, and this is Tamlen and Dagna. I’m in the fourth year of my PhD, and Tamlen is – oh, but listen to me babbling!” She patted her cheeks nervously. “You two should introduce yourselves!”

Tamlen chuckled and nodded a greeting to Athera. “Nice to meet you. I’m a part-time research assistant, doing my undergrad the rest of the time.”

Dagna waved cheerily to her. “I’m a PhD student too. Second year.”

Athera was already feeling more relaxed; they all seemed so nice. “Nice to meet all of you,” she said. “Are you Abelas’s students?”

Tamlen smirked, and Dagna let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh no, Professor Abelas doesn’t supervise students. Solas is our supervisor.”

Athera raised her eyebrows. “Abelas doesn’t supervise students?”

Merrill shook her head. “No. Too busy teaching and being the director, he says.”

Athera raised an eyebrow. “But he’s a tenured professor, isn't he? How can he be tenured and not supervise students?”

Merrill, Dagna and Tamlen exchanged glances, and Merrill replied. “We don’t really know, to be honest. Professor Abelas runs the department and Professor Solas does the supervisor duties.”

Athera frowned. “That’s… really weird.”

“It has been working well since this program began,” a deep male voice said.

A hard stone dropped into Athera’s gut. _Damn_ , she thought. She looked up at the east hallway to see a tall elven man standing there with his arms folded. 

He was surprisingly built for an academic, with broad muscular shoulders that his tweed blazer didn’t quite manage to hide. An impeccable white braid coursed down his back — probably the style in Arlathan, Athera thought, since it certainly wasn’t a look she’d ever seen in Orlais — and he was very handsome. 

Or he would be, if he wasn’t scowling at her. Unfortunately for Athera, his expression was just as disapproving as his smooth voice. 

She swallowed hard. _You’re a professional woman,_ she told herself. _Even if you insulted his management style right in front of him._ She offered him what she hoped was a professional smile. “You must be Abelas,” she said, and she took a step toward him. “I’m Athera, the research coordinator.”

“It is _Professor_ Abelas,” he said. “Come this way. I will orient you to the lab.” He unfolded his arms and raised his eyebrows at Merrill, Dagna and Tamlen. “You have introduced yourselves?”

“Yes, professor,” Tamlen said. 

Abelas nodded, then gestured for Athera to follow him and headed for the west hallway without stopping to check that she was following. 

_Damn and double damn,_ Athera thought gloomily. She forced herself not to look at Merrill and the others as she followed Abelas down the west hallway. 

He gestured at a few closed doors. “These are graduate student offices,” he said brusquely. “A meeting room here for interviewing research participants. That room is the private library, including hard copies of research articles from the past ten years that are awaiting digitization and proper indexing.” He shot her a hard look. “Managing that will be one of your duties.”

“I’m aware,” she said, a bit more sharply than she intended.

His frown deepened slightly, and Athera forced herself to relax. “I’ll make that a priority,” she said in a softer tone. 

He nodded, then pointed at a polished oak door at the end of the hall. “Professor Solas’s office is there.” He gestured for her to exit the hallway, and she obediently headed back down the hall toward the east hallway instead, with Abelas — sorry, _Professor_ Abelas — at her back. 

She tried to think of something intelligent to say, some sort of question that would make it clear that she knew her duties here, but her tongue was tied with awkwardness. Professor Abelas was so silent and stern, and his height was kind of intimidating, making her feel as though he was towering over her as he followed her down the hall. 

When they were in the east hallway once more, he broke the tense silence. “More graduate student offices here. An archive of Elvhen artifacts is in this room, which is kept locked at all times.” He pursed his lips before going on. “I will give you a key by the end of the week. In the meantime, you will ask me if you require access to that room.” 

Athera frowned slightly. Why was he reluctant to give her access to the artifact room? She would need free access to all of these rooms if he wanted her to do her job properly. 

“My office is at the end of this hall,” he said. He gestured for her to follow him. “You should check with me before making any significant changes to the way things are run here.” 

“I understand,” she said cautiously. She followed him into his office, which – unsurprisingly – was spotlessly clean and tidy. Austere, almost.

He sidled around his desk and pointed to a large whiteboard calendar on the wall, which was meticulously colour-coded. “Professor Solas and I have a shared calendar here. Our teaching schedules and monthly meetings are updated here, so you will know where we are at all times.”

“Why don’t you use an online calendar?” she asked.

His pale eyebrows rose slightly. “Excuse me?”

“An online calendar,” she said. “So you can share it between you and update it on your, um, on your phones…?” She trailed off at the deepening of his frown.

“Professor Solas and I have a system that has worked for over a decade,” he said. “We will continue to do it this way.”

She pressed her lips together, then nodded. If he wanted to live in the Exalted Age and use a whiteboard calendar, that was his prerogative.

He rested his fingertips lightly on his desk. “The students similarly use a whiteboard calendar to coordinate the use of the meeting room and other resources.”

Athera raised her eyebrows. “Okay, well, that just makes no sense. That has to change.”

Abelas recoiled slightly, but Athera pressed on. “Students’ schedules are changing all the time. With exams and deadlines, a shared online calendar only makes sense so they can input any changes immediately and have notifs — uh, notifications — to alert everyone to the changes. I’ll set that up immediately.”

“I did not give you leave to make such a change,” he said sharply.

“It’s a simple change that will streamline everyone’s schedules and increase the efficiency of your lab,” Athera insisted.

“That’s not how things are done here,” he retorted.

His tone was hard, and he was scowling at her now. The look on his face was making her heart race, but she inhaled slowly through her nose to keep her calm.

 _You’re a competent professional,_ she told herself. _You might not have a fancy PhD and a post-doc and an entire lab under your belt, but you’re a professional too, damn it._

She boldly lifted her chin. “You hired me to manage the research projects in your lab and to take over a number of your administrative duties. Isn’t that right?”

He folded his arms. “That was indeed the job description.”

“If that’s my job, why don’t you trust me to do it?”

“You lack experience,” he said, to her surprise and dismay. “And besides, hiring you was not my choice. Professor Solas insisted that I required… assistance.”

Athera recoiled slightly at this. “Well, I’m not here to be your assistant,” she said firmly. “I’m not here to just do what you tell me. I’ll evaluate the way your lab is managed, and when I’m finished doing that, I’ll tell _you_ how I think things should change.”

He glared at her. His unusual golden eyes were practically sparking now, his long elegant fingers tense on the surface of his desk, and Athera forced herself to breathe through her anxiety as she stared into his eyes.

He finally grunted and sat in his chair. “Fine. But you will change _nothing_ without consulting me first.”

She exhaled slowly. “I’ll check everything with you for the first two weeks. You should let me use my judgment after that.”

He narrowed his golden eyes. “You are making a great number of demands considering that it is your first day here.”

 _And you’re being an ass, considering that it’s my first day,_ she thought belligerently, but she kept that salty thought to herself. “I’m just trying to do my job,” she said evenly. “A job that you hired me for, whether you wanted to or not.” She gave him a knowing look. “I’m going to make your life easier, you know.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said. He reached for his mouse and started clicking around on his computer. “I look forward to the results of your… evaluation.”

His tone was dripping with disdain. What in the Void was his problem with her? 

“I’ll get to work, then,” she said. She shifted her bag on her shoulder, then realized something: she needed someplace to put her things, and to, well, do her job. 

“Where’s my office?” she said.

“Ah,” he said. “An oversight. Here.” He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a key, then held it out to her. 

She approached the desk and held out her hand, and Abelas placed the key in her palm. “The office next to this one is yours,” he said.

 _Of course it is,_ she thought glumly. Of course her office had to be right next to the grumpy director’s. 

“Thank you,” she said. She took a step back, then toyed idly with the key for a moment. This whole meeting had been unfortunately antagonistic so far, and Athera didn’t want to leave it on such a sour note.

She decided to try to lighten the mood a bit. “If we’re going to be neighbours, I hope you don’t mind music,” she said. 

A crease appeared between his brows. “Excuse me?”

“Music,” she said. “I listen to music all the time. It helps me to think. I, um, hope you don’t mind.”

His frown deepened. “What sort of music?”

“Dance music, mostly,” Athera said. “Pop, too, though I like more of the indie stuff.”

“Dance and pop music,” he repeated. 

He was staring at her now as though she’d grown qunari horns. She could feel her face prickling with discomfort. Why had she even bothered trying to lighten the mood with him? He clearly didn’t have a humorous bone in his body. 

She tried for a smile. “I’ll keep the volume down for now.” 

“That would be for the best,” he said.

She nodded and awkwardly backed out of his office. “Thanks for the orientation, Abelas. Professor Abelas,” she said hastily. 

He nodded. Already his eyes were on his computer screen, and Athera blew out a breath as she started unlocking her new office door. 

“Athera,” he called.

For some reason, a shiver traced down her spine at the sound of her name in his voice. She’d never heard her name before in an Arlathani accent, with the soft vowels and the gently rolled _r_. 

She swallowed hard and poked her head back in his office. “Yes?”

“Close the door behind you,” he said.

His eyes were still on his monitor. Athera frowned at his bluntness, then pulled his door shut without replying. 

_Ass,_ she thought. She opened her office and put her bag on the desk next to the computer, then draped her coat over the chair and trudged down the hall back to the main area.

Merrill and Dagna were still there, and their faces were sympathetic. “Don’t worry,” Dagna said soothingly. “His bark is much worse than his bite.”

“I cried on my first day here,” Merrill confided. “During my whole first week, actually. I have an extra box of tissues in my desk if you need them.”

Athera chuckled. “Thanks, but I’m okay. I’m just going to jump right in and get to work.”

Merrill beamed at her. “That’s the spirit! And it really is exciting to work here. The artifacts they have in the back room are just amazing! I’m doing my thesis on one of them, actually, on the broken eluvian that was found in the Brecilian forest ten years ago. That’s one of the reasons that the professors came to Orlais, you know, so they could work with U of O on the eluvian project — oh, but you probably know that already…”

“I do,” Athera said. “But I’m just as interested as you are, so you can tell me all about it.”

Merrill did a little hop. “Wonderful! Well, it was shattered, as you know, and I was actually part of the archeological party who went out to the forest two years ago to recover more of the pieces! Creators, I tell you, it was such an _amazing_ trip…” 

Merrill chattered on cheerfully about the eluvian, and Athera listened with one ear, but the rest of her mind was on Abelas and his bad attitude. The way he spoke to her was so unkind, like he thought she was just here to mess everything up. And the way he frowned at her with that scowl on his annoyingly handsome face, like she wasn’t qualified to make any changes to his precious lab…

 _He’ll see,_ she thought stubbornly. _He’ll see how much more smoothly things will run here once I’ve gotten settled in._ Athera was a competent professional woman, after all. She was absolutely qualified to do this job, and in no time, she’d learn the way the lab was run and she’d make it so efficient that Abelas would be sorry he ever doubted her. 

_I’ll show him,_ she thought. She was going to make this lab the most efficiently run place in the department of history, and Abelas wouldn’t remember what his life was like without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your divine artist is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	3. Habit

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris should’ve stayed home.

She propped one elbow on the cocktail table and idly looked around. The campus bar was full to bursting with faculty and grad students. Many of the grad students looked younger than her, and all of them were bright and shiny and enthusiastic about starting their grad careers.

 _Good for them,_ she thought flatly. She took a sip of her whiskey and raised an eyebrow at Athera. “You’re drinking that cider awfully slowly, considering the day you had.”

Athera sighed. “I wish I could get buzzed, believe me. But the last thing I want to do is show up at work hungover tomorrow and have Abelas — sorry, _professor_ Abelas — thinking I’m a drunk as well as an incompetent baby.”

Tamaris curled her lip. “I still can’t believe he insisted on you calling him ‘professor’. What a dick.”

“Shh,” Athera hissed. She elbowed Tamaris. “Keep your voice down! He might be here. Or one of the other faculty will hear you.”

“I don’t give a shit who hears me,” Tamaris said.

“Okay, then _you_ can find me another research coordinator job at this university,” Athera said brightly. “Make sure it’s a history or social studies lab, though. I’m a little rusty in my organic chem. I wouldn’t want to go blowing up a building by accident or something.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “All right, all right, I get it.” She sipped her drink again, then glanced at Nare, whose big blue eyes were scanning the room as though she was looking for someone. She was also already nursing her second cocktail of the night, which was unusual for her.

Tamaris nudged her. “What’s up with you?”

Nare glanced at her. “Hm? What do you mean?”

“You’ve been weird all afternoon since you got home from the museum,” Tamaris said. “Did you have an artistic epiphany or something while you were there?”

Nare smiled distractedly, but her eyes were still shifting around the room. “Uh… um, no. It was a good exhibit. You should go.”

“I will,” Tamaris said. “But seriously, you’re being cagey as fuck.”

Athera snorted a laugh, and Nare finally turned to face them fully. “I’m not being cagey!”

“You are too. You look like you’re being hunted,” Tamaris said matter-of-factly. “Or like you’re hunting for someone. I can’t decide.”

Athera pulled a little face. “You are acting kind of weird, _lethallan._ Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Nare said brightly. “Just excited! First day jitters, you know. Almost first day, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Tamaris said. She eyed Nare skeptically, then tilted her head. “I like your dress.”

Nare smiled and smoothed a hand over the short flowy skirt of her cranberry-red dress. “Thanks! It’s my favourite.”

Athera brushed a bit of lint from Nare’s shoulder. “Isn’t this the one you usually wear on first dates?”

“You’re right, it is,” Tamaris said. She raised her eyebrows at Nare. “Why are you wearing your sexy first-date dress?”

Nare scoffed. “You guys are such stalkers. It’s not a first-date dress, it’s a confidence dress.”

Athera shrugged affably. “Red _is_ the colour of confidence.”

“Exactly,” Nare said. She took another sip from her drink — more of a gulp, really — then looked at Athera. “So you didn’t meet Solas today at the lab, then?”

“No, but Merrill said he should be here tonight,” Athera said. “That would be nice if you met him tonight, hey? Get it out of the way so it’s not so nerve-wracking tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Nare said, and she drained the last of her drink. 

Tamaris narrowed her eyes at Nare, but before she could pick on her some more, Athera straightened up and tapped Nare’s arm. “Oh, speaking of Merrill, she’s over there with Dagna and Tamlen! Come on, you should meet them. I’ll introduce you guys.” She looped her arm through Tamaris’s elbow, but Tamaris balked.

“You go ahead,” she said. “I’ll wait here.”

Athera’s face fell. “Why? You should come meet them! We’re probably going to end up spending a lot of time hanging out with them.”

Tamaris shook her head and extracted her arm from Athera’s grip. “It’s all right. You guys go have your ancient Elvhen lab chat. I’ll be here.”

“Seriously, Tam, are you okay?” Nare asked.

Her expression was apologetic, and Tamaris frowned. Nare and Athera both knew she hated making small talk with strangers. “I’m fine,” she said testily. “Why are you asking?”

Nare pulled a little face. “I don’t know. I just… now I feel kind of bad dragging you here.”

Tamaris gave her a chiding look. “Don’t feel bad. It’s fine. You meant well.” She rolled her eyes. “Getting the fuck out of the house is apparently good for people sometimes.”

Nare smirked, then squeezed her arm. “All right, we won’t be gone long.”

Tamaris nodded and watched as Athera and Nare slipped away into the crowd. She sighed and finished her whiskey, then leaned her elbows on the table and watched the new students chattering with each other and making nervous attempts to talk to the faculty members.

“Well, _you_ look out of place.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes at the strange male voice. Some men just couldn’t get the hint to fuck off even if it was practically stamped across the back of her leather jacket. 

She glanced dismissively at the man who’d spoken to her, then paused in surprise. He was a tall lean elf with unusual violet eyes and a cocky little smirk. But it was his hair that really surprised her. His midnight-black hair was long and lustrous, probably longer than Tamaris’s if it was loose, but it was pulled into a neat bun at his nape, with two understated braids that coursed from his temples back into the bun: a style that was both classic and foreign.

“Like you should talk,” she said. “You’re from Arlathan, aren’t you?”

The stranger smiled. “What gave me away? The accent? The sense of superiority?”

Tamaris smirked despite herself. “Definitely the accent. The superiority hasn’t reared its head yet.”

He chuckled and stepped a little closer to her. “Yet, you say? I’ll keep that in mind and try to hide it for as long as possible.”

She huffed. “Don’t bother. If you’re an asshole, might as well just admit it up front.”

“But then you would stop talking to me,” he said.

“Yeah, I would,” she said bluntly. “It would save us both a lot of time.”

His smile widened, and he held out his hand. “Felassan.”

She hesitated for a second, then shook his hand. “Tamaris.”

“Tamaris,” he said slowly. He released her hand. “That’s a classic Elvhen name. Do you know what it means?”

 _Oh boy,_ she thought ruefully. “Let me guess: you’re going to tell me,” she drawled.

“I could, if you like,” he said.

She eyed him skeptically, then turned to face him and folded her arms. “Go on, then. Tell me.”

He leaned casually against the cocktail table and folded his arms as well. “‘Tamaris’ means ‘my forever second’. The meaning is not unlike ‘best friend forever’ or ‘partner forever’.”

Tamaris barked out a rough little laugh. “What a line. How lucky for you that it doesn’t mean something unflattering like ‘thorny weed’.”

“It is lucky, isn’t it?” Felassan said pleasantly. “But then again, one man’s weed is another man’s favourite flower.”

She stared at him incredulously. That was smooth as hell. How had he come up with that response so fast? “I’m sorry, who the fuck are you?” she asked. “Are you a student?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Do I look like a student?”

“No, actually,” Tamaris said. “You’re dressed like shit compared to everyone else here.” To be fair, Felassan wasn’t badly dressed; his black jeans and Converse sneakers were well-fitted and clean, and his Veilfire t-shirt was also a flattering fit that showcased his lean but muscled chest. All the same, he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt when every other man in the room was wearing blazers or collared shirts.

He snickered. “I could say the same about you. I don’t see any other women here in combat boots.”

“Well, I’m not a student,” Tamaris said.

“Neither am I,” Felassan said. “Not anymore.”

“Oh,” Tamaris said. “Congratulations.”

He tilted his head. “Why do you say that?” 

“I…” She trailed off, feeling a little nonplussed. “I assumed you finished your degree.”

“What degree do you assume that I finished?”

“Uh… fuck, I don’t know.” She stared at him with growing bemusement. “ _Did_ you finish a degree?”

“I did, in fact,” he said. “I finished my PhD two years ago.”

“Oh,” she said again. Then she frowned at him. “Then why the fuck were you giving me such a hard time about saying congratulations?”

He smirked. “For the pleasure of seeing the confusion paint your pretty face.”

She stared at him for a second longer, then scoffed. “Fuck’s sake. You’re a real menace, you know that?”

“Thank you,” he said cheerfully. “I try my hardest.”

She huffed in amusement and reached for her whiskey glass, then realized it was empty. Felassan nodded his chin at her glass. “Would you care for another?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Should I not be talking to you?” he asked.

She shrugged. Now that he was talking to her, she didn’t really mind, but it didn’t explain what had brought him over in the first place. “I don’t exactly look inviting,” she said.

“That’s true,” he agreed.

“So what then?” she demanded. “Why did you bother me?”

“Because I like the look of your face,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “My face? You mean my resting bitch face that you totally ignored?”

He smiled, but his tone was serious. “I mean that you weren’t smiling. Yours was the only face in this crowd that wasn’t smiling.”

She shot him a look of rebuke. “So what, you came over here to make me smile? Did you think smiling would make me more pretty?” 

“You mistake my meaning,” he said. “You were not smiling, but you looked as if you were seeking a reason to smile.”

Something in her belly twisted uncomfortably. She huffed and looked away from him. “Aren’t you a fancy fucking fortune-teller.”

“Not at all,” he said. “Just someone who recognizes the feeling.”

She glanced at him once more. For the first time since he’d come over to her, his expression was completely serious. 

She dropped his gaze again and shrugged. “All right. I could use another drink.” 

A small smile lifted his lips, and he gallantly ushered her to the bar. A minute later, he handed her a glass of whiskey before lifting his own. 

“ _Enansal’in_ ,” he said. “Or ‘cheers’, as you would probably say.”

“Cheers,” she said. She tapped her glass to his, then eyed him as she sipped her drink. He was undeniably smooth, which instantly made her suspicious. He’d also obviously been watching her, since he knew exactly what she’d been drinking. 

Some women might find it charming. Tamaris found it creepy. On the other hand, he was hot and clever, and she hadn’t had sex since she and the girls had moved to Orlais a few months ago. And if Felassan wasn’t a student anymore, she probably wouldn’t get stuck running into him through Nare or Athera. 

She gulped down the rest of her drink, then placed her glass on the bar. “Do you smoke deep mushroom?”

He grinned. “Deep mushroom isn’t legal in Orlais.”

“I don’t give a fuck what’s illegal in Orlais,” she retorted.

Felassan chuckled. “You really are my kind of woman.”

She scoffed. “Come on, then,” she said. She pushed away from the bar and headed for the door, and a minute later, they were standing against the wall in the empty alley beside the campus bar. 

Tamaris pulled a joint of elfroot and deep mushroom from her purse and deftly lit it, then offered it to Felassan. He took it with a smile and brought the joint to his lips, then took a deep drag and released the smoke in a series of perfect rings. 

“Show-off,” Tamaris accused. 

He treated her to another handsome grin, then handed her the joint. “Where do you hail from, then, if you smoke deep mushroom with such impunity?”

“Kirkwall, most recently,” Tamaris replied.

He nodded. “Ah, Kirkwall. I’ve heard tales. Is it true that it’s possible to get anything there if you know the right people?”

Tamaris huffed in amusement. “Pretty much, yeah.” She took another drag of deep mushroom and handed him the joint, then eyed him thoughtfully as he smoked it. “You’ve never been there, then?”

He shook his head and exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Orlais is the only place I’ve been since leaving Arlathan.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. “Orlais is… honestly, there are better places to visit. You should travel more.”

“Are you well-travelled?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t say that, really, but I’ve visited a few places,” she said. “Rivain, Antiva, a few of the Free Marcher states…”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “That sounds well-travelled to me. You have been many places more than I.” He held out the joint.

Tamaris took the joint and brought it to her lips. “Our reserve is just east of Starkhaven, so it’s pretty well-situated for making trips along the east coast.”

“Reserve?” Felassan said. “You’re Dalish, then?”

Tamaris frowned. She hadn’t meant to tell him that. She didn’t usually like getting into the ‘are you actually Dalish’ conversation with strangers.

 _Serves me right for smoking deep mushroom with a stranger,_ she thought ruefully. She took another deep drag, then held out the joint to him. “Yeah. I’m really Dalish. This vallaslin isn’t just a ‘cute aesthetic’.”

Felassan nodded thoughtfully. “That tattoo means something to you.”

“Of course it does,” she said. Then she gave him an appraising look. “I’m kind of surprised  
_you_ don’t have vallaslin.”

He smiled slowly before exhaling a mouthful of smoke. “Why is that?” he asked.

“Vallaslin is an ancient Elvhen tradition,” she said. “I thought you Arlathani elves knew those traditions better than we do.”

He laughed softly and handed her the joint. “I would no more compare Dalish and Arlathani traditions than I would compare a dragon and a lizard.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. “And who’s the lizard in this scenario? Us or you?”

“Either,” Felassan said. “Take your pick. The dragon and the lizard are so far removed as to defy comparison.”

Tamaris lifted her chin. “You’re telling me you don’t think the dragon is more powerful than the lizard?”

He gazed at her in silence for a moment before replying. “I’m saying there might be a reason I am still in Orlais even though I finished my degree two years ago.”

Tamaris studied him wordlessly. His lips were curled at the corners with humour, but there was something about his eyes on her face that felt… piercing, somehow. Like he was seeing more on her face than just her vallaslin.

She looked away from him and took one last deep drag from the joint, then dropped the butt on the ground. She blew out the smoke in a long exhale, then turned back to Felassan.

She stepped _very_ close to him and curled her fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt, and a wicked smile lit his face. “Is there something I can help you with?” he said.

His voice was laced with mischief and a hint of heat, and a little seed of lust bloomed deep in her belly. “Yes,” she said, and she kissed him.

His lips parted beneath hers, and Tamaris dipped her tongue into his smoke-perfumed mouth. His hands rose to cradle her neck before sliding into her hair, and Tamaris savoured the warmth of his palms on her scalp.

Felassan’s tongue slid smoothly around her own, a slow heated caress inside of her mouth, and Tamaris was surprised to feel her shoulders relaxing at the slow and soothing movement of his mouth over hers. Then his fingers tightened in her hair, and he gently tugged her head back. 

She gasped as a rush of lust fanned through her body. A second later, she was pressed against the cool alley wall with Felassan’s hands in her hair and his mouth at her throat. 

She gasped again and clenched her fingers in his shirt. His teeth and lips were trailing slowly along the tendon in her neck with a torturous sort of delicacy, and the frantic pulse between her legs was a total mismatch with how slowly and carefully he was kissing her neck. 

He lapped gently at her neck, and she dragged in a breath. “F-fuck,” she whimpered. 

He dropped another tantalizing kiss on her throat, then leaned away slightly and stroked her neck with his palms. “Tamaris, I thought you should know. I… don’t make a habit of this.”

“A habit of what?” she panted.

“Kissing strangers in alleyways outside of bars,” he murmured.

She scoffed. “Uh-huh.”

He quirked one eyebrow. “You don’t believe me?”

“With how smooth you are?” she said archly. “Of course I don’t fucking believe you.” Not that it mattered whether this was a habit of his or not; she was primed and ready for him, and she didn’t care if she never heard from him again after this, not if he was able to fuck her as well as he kissed.

He smiled slowly and stepped even closer to her — close enough that the hard ridge of his groin was pressing against her belly. Her eyelids fluttered at the feel of his hardness, and he chuckled softly. “I can understand your suspicion,” he murmured. “Words are cheap and easy, aren’t they?” 

She nodded distractedly, and Felassan tilted her chin up with one hand. “This is a conundrum, then. How to convince you that I’m not the playboy that you take me for?”

“I don’t care if you’re a playboy,” she panted. 

He brushed his lips over hers. “I do,” he whispered. He kissed her softly, then coaxed her lips apart with little careful laps of his tongue before sealing his lips over hers. 

Tamaris whimpered, but the sound was muffled by his tongue sliding smoothly along the length of hers. He was so gorgeous, and his kisses were so careful and delicious, and when was the last time anyone had kissed her like this? That anyone had taken the time to really _kiss_ her, like the kissing in itself was an act worth enjoying in its own right rather than the necessary prelude to something more? 

Not that she didn’t want more – gods, did she ever want _more_. And her apartment was just a fifteen-minute walk down the street… 

She gripped Felassan’s hips and pressed herself firmly against his front. He broke their kiss and groaned: a gorgeous, bone-melting sound that trickled down her spine and lit a fresh pulse of desire through her core. 

Then he released her and stepped away. 

She stared breathlessly at him. His cock was a visible ridge in his pants, and he was smiling broadly.

“Goodnight, Tamaris,” he said. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head politely, then turned and walked away. 

Tamaris watched in disbelief as he turned the corner and disappeared. By the time she was able to move her lust-paralyzed limbs and step out of the alley back onto the street, he was gone. 

_Un-fucking-believable,_ she thought. She stood on the sidewalk for a second, torn about what to do next. Should she go home and get herself off, or should she go back into the campus bar and get rip-roaring drunk by herself? She honestly couldn’t decide which option was more tempting or pathetic. 

She sighed heavily, then pulled her phone out of her purse to find a number of texts from Athera.

__

Athera 10:37pm  
Where are you? Did you go home?

__

Athera 10:37pm  
Nare abandoned me to talk to someone else lol 

__

Athera 10:45pm  
Taaaaaaaam don’t ghost me ilu 😭

__

Athera 10:48pm  
Seriously though I should probably get going soon, early work tmr ugh. Are you guys gonna come home with me? Hot choccy when we get home? I’ll make it 😊

__

_  
_

That was about ten minutes ago. Tamaris sighed and shoved back her hair, then tapped out a reply. 

__

_Tamaris 10:58pm  
Just outside for some air. Coming back in_

She dropped her phone back in her purse, then realized something: neither she nor Felassan had thought to get each other’s phone numbers.

She froze for a second, then laughed bitterly to herself. Of course she hadn’t gotten his phone number. And of course she hadn’t gotten any sex. That was just her luck. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered, then shoved open the door to the campus bar and went back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More on Friday! A wild Solas POV will appear...😍
> 
> Your writer is [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artist and creator of sweet Nare is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)


	4. Oceanic

###  NARE 

Nare tapped her fingernails on her empty glass as she scanned the bar. _I don’t see him,_ she thought in disappointment, then turned back to face her new labmates with a somewhat perfunctory smile.

Merrill was in the middle of telling a story. She covered her mouth with one hand as she giggled. “After that, Professor Abelas has never eaten any of the baked goods I bring in. It was only the one time, though. I don’t usually put a tablespoon of salt in my cakes, I swear.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tamlen said. “Professor Abelas doesn’t even eat storebought baked goods that are brought into the lab.”

“I think that’s how he got so tall,” Dagna said. “Not eating baked goods.”

Tamlen smirked. “Dagna, you think everyone is tall.”

She tutted and poked his hip. “Silly. I’ll let you get away with that comment since you always get the files down from the top shelves for me.”

Athera tilted her head quizzically. “Is Professor Abelas going to come to this mixer?”

“He already came and went,” Merrill said. “He always comes right when it starts and leaves within the hour.”

Athera’s eyebrows jumped up. “He came right at eight o’clock? I bet no one was even here yet!”

“That’s why he comes on time,” Tamlen said dryly.

Athera snorted. “That makes so much sense, actually.”

Nare briefly stopped scanning the room to grin at her. “Are you going to gossip about him now since you know he’s not going to show up?”

Athera scoffed. “I’m not going to gossip about a faculty member at the campus bar. I’m not stupid.” Then she smirked and elbowed Nare. “I’ll keep the gossip for when we get home.”

“Oh good,” Nare said brightly. “I still can’t believe you told Tamaris about your day while I was in the shower.”

Merrill clapped her hands. “Athera was so impressive today. You didn’t cry once!”

Nare looked at Merrill and Athera in genuine alarm. “Cry?” she exclaimed. “Why would you cry?”

Athera rolled her eyes, and Tamlen helpfully replied. “Professor Abelas is, uh, stern.”

“I think his face will crack if he smiles too much,” Merrill said. 

Tamlen cocked his head thoughtfully. “His frown does kind of look like a golem, doesn’t it?”

“Yep, it really does,” Dagna chirped, “and I would know. Golems were the focus of my undergrad thesis.”

“Were they really?” Athera said keenly. “I only had one single lecture during my undergrad that even talked about golems. What can you tell me about them?”

Dagna launched into an excited explanation of the role of golems in ancient Orzammar, and Nare took the opportunity to scan the room once more, even though she knew she shouldn’t be. Really, if she saw Professor Solas at this mixer, it would be better if she stayed away from him. 

But at the same time, if she stayed away from him and _he_ saw _her_ , that would be worse, wouldn’t it? She was his new Master’s student and they’d run into each other earlier today, even though he didn’t know who she was. If he saw her here tonight and she _didn’t_ talk to him, it would be weird when she formally met him tomorrow in his office, as if she’d been avoiding him. And she had no real reason or excuse to avoid him.

Aside from the juvenile but persistent fantasies she kept having about his height looming over her and his gorgeous voice curling out of those plush full lips. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek and tapped her empty glass. Then Athera nudged her. “You’re starting to make _me_ nervous now,” she murmured. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Nare smiled at her. “I’m fine, I promise,” she said. Then she looked at her new labmates. “Does Solas — er, Professor Solas usually come to these mixers?”

Merrill nodded. “He does, yes. He’s probably here somewhere talking to someone.”

“Being told off by someone, you mean,” Tamlen drawled. 

Merrill _tsk_ ed. “They only tell him off because they’re jealous.”

Dagna giggled. “Or because he embarrassed some Orlesian professor in one of their lectures by pointing out something wrong.”

Nare looked at him with wide eyes. “He does that in the middle of other people’s lectures while everyone is watching?”

“Yep,” Tamlen said smugly. “It’s kind of awesome, actually.”

Nare laughed, and Athera sighed happily. “I’d like to see that sometime.”

“You can, if you want,” Tamlen said, to Nare’s surprise. “Solas is insistent that all his lectures be open for anyone to audit. The administration almost had a fit at first because his classrooms were so packed that it violated fire regulations, but it’s calmed down a little bit in the past couple years.”

Nare stared at him. “Open for auditing? Wow.” That basically meant that Solas was doing his world-class lectures for free for anyone who wanted to listen. 

She sighed to herself. As if she needed more of a reason to have a crush on him. 

Merrill seemed to agree. “I think it’s brilliant. He’s trying to share the knowledge of Arlathan so openly! After so many years of their borders being almost completely closed to outsiders!” She sighed wistfully. “I hope I can go on an exchange to Arlathan someday.”

Dagna nodded enthusiastically. “That would be pretty amazing. Can you imagine how much we could learn?”

Nare smiled in agreement and glanced around, and her heart stopped.

There he was. Professor Solas was standing near the bar in a fitted blazer and a collared shirt, smiling politely as a dark-haired man spoke animatedly to him. 

Her frozen heart bolted into a galloping pulse. _Oh gods,_ she thought. _Oh gods oh gods._ He was here. She was hoping he would be here, and now that he actually was, she thought she might pass out from excitement. Or from anxiety. One of the two. 

She tore her eyes away from him and smiled idly at Athera and the others, but she could barely pretend to be paying attention anymore. Professor Solas was there, standing _right there_ not twenty feet away and drawing her attention more readily than a lighthouse beam.

All of a sudden, she couldn’t resist the beacon anymore.

She held out her glass to Athera. “Can you take this? I’m going to the washroom. I’ll be right back.” 

“Sure,” Athera said, but Nare was already walking away.

She twined her way through the crowd and slipped into the washroom, then stepped in front of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, but that could be chalked up to the crowded bar. Her hair looked good, half pinned-up and the rest spilling down her back in loose waves, and her makeup was surprisingly unsmudged. 

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself, but it barely helped; her anxiety was burning away and being taken over by excitement alone — a kind of reckless excitement that Nare was not accustomed to feeling. But then again, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this kind of spine-tingling excitement about anyone. 

Honestly, she couldn’t remember ever being this desperately attracted to anyone. Too bad he had to be her fucking supervisor. 

_It’s fine,_ she thought. _I’ll just introduce myself and talk to him a little bit. It’s fine. It’s perfectly innocent._

She smiled at herself, then pressed her lips together to quell a stupid little giggle. Then, before she could lose her courage, she swept out of the bathroom and back into the bar.

###  SOLAS 

Dorian raised his eyebrows winningly. “Come now, Solas, you have to admit that a collaboration would be a huge opportunity. An exhibit developed and created by both of us focusing on the interplay between Tevinter and Arlathani culture over the centuries? People across Thedas will be discussing it.”

“I will consider it,” Solas said. 

“You should,” Dorian said. “At most, a collaborative project could garner patrons and sponsors for several years’ worth of funding for both of our departments. At the very least, it will get people talking.”

“That’s not something I have had particular difficulty with over the past few years,” Solas said wryly.

Dorian chuckled. “True, true. You and Abelas and your controversial theories. Come, my friend, your glass is dry.” He leaned over the bar and signalled the bartender. 

Solas hastily held up a hand to stop the bartender’s approach. “Thank you, but no,” he said to Dorian. “And I’m afraid I will have to cut our conversation short. This mixer is intended for mingling with the students, after all.”

Dorian sighed playfully. “I hear your message loud and clear. You’re sick and tired of me nattering your ear off.” He stepped away from the bar. “I will let you be. But promise me at least that you’ll consider a collaboration.”

“I will,” Solas said. And he meant it. But just because he considered a collaboration with Dorian didn’t mean he would agree to one, even if it did mean more sponsorship and funding. The Ancient Elvhen Studies program wouldn’t need funding beyond the next couple of years, after all. 

Dorian clapped him on the shoulder, then wandered into the boisterous crowd. Once he was gone, Solas let out a sigh of relief. He was far more adept at these sorts of gatherings than Abelas was, and truthfully, Solas didn’t mind coming to these events; he was always willing to engage in a rousing academic debate or an in-depth discussion of art over drinks. But just because he enjoyed the debates and the discussions didn’t mean he wasn’t exhausted by the time the night was done. 

And tonight was only half-done. He’d only arrived about a half-hour ago, and he really ought to stay for at least another hour. It was simply unfortunate that tonight’s mixer happened to fall on the sort of lazy weeknight that Solas would have preferred to spend on his couch at home with a book in hand and Fenor purring happily in his lap. 

He sighed and glanced around the room. Then his heart flipped in his chest.

A beautiful young elven woman in the crowd was smiling at him. A young woman he recognized, actually. Long russet hair, big blue eyes, long bare legs in a dark red dress…

It was the woman he had bumped into this morning on his way to the library. 

_Collided with, more like,_ he thought ruefully. He really should have known better than to read while he was walking, especially when he’d forgotten his reading glasses at home and had to squint hard at the page. 

He nodded politely to her. Her smile widened, revealing a dimple in her right cheek, and she slipped deftly through the crowd until she was standing in front of him. 

“Hi,” she said. “We meet again.”

“So it seems,” he said. He was a bit taken aback by her confidence; it was a contrast with how shy she’d seemed earlier today.

“I didn’t realize that you were a student here,” he said. As soon as the words left his lips, he felt foolish. How could he have realized she was a student? They hadn’t even encountered each other on campus.

Thankfully, she didn’t point out his inane comment. “That’s okay,” she said. “I wasn’t heading toward campus, anyway.”

He blinked. “That’s right, you weren’t. Where were you headed?”

“I went to the modern art museum to see the neo-Avvar exhibit.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Ah. It’s a fascinating display, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she said enthusiastically. “I love the range of mediums they use in their work. The textiles were especially beautiful. I don’t know anything about textile art, but I feel like it would have been so hard to dye the tapestries in that kind of colour blending without any modern tech.”

“The textiles are truly impressive, aren’t they?” Solas agreed. “Incredible that such meticulous weavework could be done with bare hands. The Avvar are known for not using machines for their weaving.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? I just assumed that they used a loom of some kind.”

“No looms,” he confirmed. “Those tapestries were made entirely by hand.” He chuckled. “I believe my fingers would seize if I ever attempted such a feat.”

Her smile curled mischievously. “I can’t imagine that. I think you have the right kind of hands for weaving.”

He looked at her sharply, amused and surprised by her boldness. “Do you, now?”

He was further amused when she blushed. “I just… I can tell you’re an artist by your hands,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, and her cheeks flushed even further. “I just mean that your… you have beautiful hands.” She laughed and patted her pinkened cheeks.

Solas smiled helplessly at her. There was something utterly charming about her confidence combined with her embarrassment, and… _fenedhis,_ he knew he shouldn’t be encouraging this. He had no idea what department she even belonged to. But regardless of department, she was a student, and he shouldn’t be encouraging any kind of flirtation.

His wayward mouth opened of its own accord. “Do all artists have beautiful hands then, in your estimation?”

She waved her hand haphazardly. “No, no. I’m just being silly. Mine are nothing special, for example.”

He studied her with fresh interest. “Are you an artist yourself, then?”

“I… yes, actually,” she said. “I’m, um… I’m a painter. Digital and traditional.”

A painter as well? That was a happy coincidence. “As am I,” he said. “If you are a painter, you should know that you ought not discount your hands as being nothing special. A person’s hands speak of their character, whether the hands themselves are considered classically beautiful or not.”

She tilted her head. “Can you tell me more about that, professor?”

A warm feeling bloomed in his belly, and he eyed her carefully. Her tone and her expression were innocent, but there was something about the way she said his title that felt… not entirely innocent, somehow. 

Against his better judgment, he held out his hand. “Certainly. May I?”

Her eyes widened. But before Solas could retract his unwise words, she lifted her left hand and placed it in his. 

He studied her palm and her fingers for a moment, then turned her hand over. “You are left-handed.”

She let out a breathless little laugh. “I… yes, I am. How did you know?”

“A writing bump, right here.” He brushed his thumb over the small callused bump of skin on the knuckle of her fourth finger. “Incidentally, you may want to reconsider the way you hold your stylus or your brushes in order to avoid fatigue.”

She gave him a teasing little smile. “Oh please. You should know better than to mess with how a painter holds her brush.”

He chuckled. “You make a fair point.” He studied her the back of her hand. “No nail polish, tidy short nails: also indicative of a painter.”

“Nice try,” she said. “You knew that already.”

He looked up in surprise at her drawling tone, then grinned and released her hand. “You have caught me. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything of note about your hands.”

She laughed. “Don’t say that. You figured out that I’m left-handed.”

He bowed his head politely. “You are overly generous with your praise.”

“Maybe you can make it up to me,” she said.

“What do you suggest?”

She cocked her head. “You could draw my hands sometime.”

His belly flipped. Her eyebrow was quirked, and there was no mistaking the coquettish angle of her head.

He cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. “I… don’t think so.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“I… anatomy is not…” He faltered before he could tell the lie that anatomy was not a specialty of his. “It has been a long time since I did any anatomy studies,” he said instead. 

“Really?” she said. “I got the feeling that you’d be an expert at handling anatomy.”

The warm feeling in his belly flared hotly — and perversely. He gave her a chiding look, but he could feel his traitorous lips curling into a smile. “This is… hardly appropriate,” he said in a low voice.

Her cheeks flushed once more. She smiled at him, then dropped his gaze and tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “I know. I’m terrible, I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

 _No_ , he thought. Truthfully, there was nothing he wanted more than to continue this conversation with this alluring young woman. But he couldn’t keep this up. It was against university regulations. 

“It would be inadvisable for this conversation to continue,” he said carefully.

Her answering smile was sheepish this time. “You’re probably right.”

“The faculty handbook confirms that I am,” he said dryly. 

She laughed. “I guess so. Well, will you have a drink with me? Just a drink,” she said quickly. “A collegial drink, I promise.”

Her sky-blue eyes were wide and innocent – deceptively innocent. Solas eyed her shrewdly for a moment, then gave in. “I suppose one drink can’t hurt.”

She beamed at him and leaned over the bar to signal the bartender, and Solas idly studied the shape of her spine. Then his disobedient mind conjured an image of her bending over the desk in his office with her spine curved in a similar shape. 

Mortified by his own thoughts, he hastily tore his eyes away from her, but her voice instantly called back his attention. “Professor, what would you like?” 

_Professor._ She couldn’t keep saying his title. It was doing things to his imagination that it shouldn’t be doing. 

He looked at the bartender. “Half a pint of Arlathan pale ale, please.” He looked down at his overly-tempting companion. “And for you?”

“Vodka tonic for me,” she said, and she pulled her wallet out of her purse. 

Solas held up a hand to stop her. “Allow me.” 

A slow smile began to curl her lips. By the time she was grinning, Solas’s heart was pounding in his throat. 

She laughed softly. “Buying me a drink? That’s very _collegial_ of you.”

Her tone was suggestive, and he liked it far too much. “It _is_ collegial, in fact,” he said. “I can charge it to my department since this is a university-hosted gathering.” He gestured for the bartender to add the drinks to his tab.

“Ooh,” she said teasingly. “That’s a clever loophole.”

 _Vixen_ , he thought incredulously. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought she was shy. She was bold and beautiful and tempting, and she made _him_ want to be bold as well.

And that thought – that wish to meet and match her boldness – was one that he absolutely could not entertain.

He forced himself to hold back the flirtatious comment at the tip of his tongue. “It is not a loophole. It’s the truth,” he said instead. 

She nodded and sipped her drink. Her expression was pleasantly neutral, but her eyes on his face were sly and warm, and Solas knew he ought to look away. He ought to break from her gaze and look at something else – anything else, really, aside from this beautiful woman that he absolutely should _not_ be thinking about in increasingly carnal ways.

But he couldn’t look away. Her eyes were so clear and bright, and even in the dim light of the campus bar, he could see that they were an unusually lush shade of blue: not quite sky-blue like he’d originally thought, but a deeper, richer shade closer to cerulean. 

Solas gazed into her cerulean eyes and sipped his ale, and she stared back at him as she sipped her vodka-tonic. By the time Solas had finished half of his drink, he still hadn’t broken from her steady gaze. Neither of them had said a word, and as he stared into her eyes and mindlessly sipped his drink, he slowly realized that not only were they _not_ talking, but that they _shouldn’t_ talk. 

No, he shouldn’t talk to her anymore. If he said another word to her, he would only be digging himself deeper into the hole she’d started. 

He finally broke from her heated gaze to drain the last drops of his ale, then placed his glass on the bar and leaned toward her slightly. “This is an impossible situation.”

She blinked at him – such an innocent gesture, but her pinkening cheeks betrayed her. “What do you mean?”

He lowered his voice. “You know precisely what I mean.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she grinned at him again: a bold, beautiful grin full of mischief and heat that made him want to sink into her right here on the spot. 

He licked his lips, and her cheeks flushed even more. Then her purse chimed loudly. 

He hastily stepped away from her, and she exhaled loudly. “Damn,” she muttered. She pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the screen. 

She wrinkled her nose, then looked up at him once more. “I have to go. My friends are leaving and I said I’d leave with them.” 

He sighed – with relief, of course, certainly _not_ with disappointment. Truly, he should be thanking whoever had sent her such a timely text. “I see,” he said. He nodded politely. “It was nice talking with you.”

“You too,” she said. But she didn’t step away. She was studying him thoughtfully, and as Solas met her gaze, he realized what her eyes reminded him of. 

They reminded him of the ocean: the perfectly clear ocean off the coast of Arlathan. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to drown himself in her oceanic eyes. 

He stared at her, his heart pounding and the blood thrumming through his body in a way that was _really_ not appropriate for such an event. Then she stepped close to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. 

He froze. She was lifting herself on her tiptoes and leaning in close to him. Her heated eyes were coming closer, and his lungs were frozen and his brain was completely paralyzed with excitement as she raised herself higher and nearer to his face…

He parted his lips – to tell her to stop, to back away, _certainly_ not to invite a kiss – but before he could say a word, she brushed her lips over his cheekbone in a demure Orlesian greeting.

She lowered herself slowly back to her heels, and her hand left his shoulder. “Goodnight, professor,” she murmured. 

He didn’t reply. He couldn’t reply. The sound of his title in her voice and the brush of her lips on his cheek had left him utterly stunned. 

She smiled at him one last time, then turned away. His hand moved involuntarily to reach for her, but he stopped himself in the nick of time. 

A second later, she had disappeared into the crowd. 

Solas stood stock-still at the bar for a long moment. His pounding heart was a drumbeat in his ears, drowning out the cacophony of conversation and music and laughter in the bar. Heat and disbelief and desire were thrumming through his limbs and into his cheeks and — _fenedhis_ , he couldn’t ignore it any longer: he was hard. Shamefully hard and throbbing, his mind totally preoccupied with the feeling of her lips on his cheek, brushing over his cheekbone so close to his mouth — such pretty smiling lips. Ah, to imagine those smiling lips wrapping around his shaft and taking him deep into her throat…

He rubbed his hand over his face. He couldn’t think like this. He didn’t understand why he was so deeply affected by this particular woman. It wasn’t like this was the first time a student had come onto him, and it had never been a problem before to tactfully rebuff them while making it seem as though he was unaware of their intentions. 

So what was it about this particular young woman — this particular _student_ — that had so captivated him that he was suffering from all sorts of tawdry thoughts that he really shouldn’t be having?

 _I should avoid her,_ he thought. If he avoided contact with her, he could avoid having any further carnal thoughts about her. Perhaps if he asked the administration to look up her name, he could…

Suddenly he realized something: he didn’t know her name. 

She hadn’t introduced herself before launching straight into a conversation with him. 

He laughed softly at his own sheer idiocy. Had _he_ even introduced himself to her? Had his wits entirely left him the second she’d graced him with that mischievous smile?

He drew a deep breath, then exhaled heavily and stepped away from the bar. _Enough of this,_ he thought. _You must stop thinking about this._ He ought to spend more time speaking with the students; he hadn’t even spoken with any of the students from his own lab yet tonight. What he really should be doing was looking for his new Master’s student, Nare. Surely she was here tonight. Perhaps she had found Merrill and Dagna. 

_I should have stayed home with Fenor after all,_ he thought morosely. With one last sigh, Solas stepped back into the crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Solas has reading glasses and a cat named Fenor in this AU. Elbenherz and I are trash. 😂
> 
> Find us on Tumblr! Your faithful writer [here,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your wonderful artist and creator of Nare is [here.](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	5. Patience

###  FELASSAN 

Felassan hummed to himself as he wandered along the sun-drenched street. The street was particularly busy today; the noontime traffic was amplified by students on foot and on their bikes making their way to their first day of classes.

Felassan didn’t mind the bustle. It would calm down in a couple of weeks anyway when people started skipping class. He slipped his sunglasses onto his nose and pulled his phone out of his pocket, then opened Instagram and checked his PMs.

No answer from her yet. That was fine; he was fairly sure it was just a matter of time. 

He tapped on Tamaris’s Instagram once more and studied her photos for a moment. It hadn’t been hard to find her; her profile was public since she used it to advertise her work. This was how he had discovered that she was a traditional stick-and-poke tattoo artist – information that he hadn’t had a chance to get directly from her last night, seeing as they’d been otherwise... occupied. 

He smirked as he remembered the way he and Tamaris had been occupied – how _she_ had occupied him, to be specific, since she was the one who had initiated that incredible kiss. He was being honest when he’d told her he didn’t usually kiss people that he’d only just met; he considered himself a shameless observer of people and their patterns, which meant he usually preferred to keep to the fringes of social events rather than getting directly involved. But last night when he’d spotted Tamaris from across the room, standing by herself and watching the people in the bar the way he usually did…

It was the look on her face. The complex mixture of skepticism and hope and wariness as she watched the people around her, like she was jaded but wished sometimes that she wasn’t. 

It was a look he’d once grown used to seeing in the mirror, especially in the last couple years of his PhD. It was part of the reason he’d largely pulled out of academia as soon as his PhD was done. And it was that look that compelled him to cross the room and talk to Tamaris when he normally wouldn’t bother. 

And talking to her had been entirely worth the bother. She was so hilariously blunt. Suspicion hung heavily from her every word, like thick drops of honey trickling from a spoon, and her skepticism only made her rare smiles all the sweeter. 

Not as sweet as that kiss, though. Actually, no: ‘sweet’ wasn’t the right word for the way Tamaris had kissed him. That kiss had been pure shameless lust, torrid and wanton and totally delicious, and it had taken every scrap of Felassan’s self-control to step away from her.

But he had to step away from her. He couldn’t give in and take her home like his body was screaming to do. Somehow he just knew that if he had sex with her right away, she wouldn’t want anything to do with him afterwards, even though sex was clearly what she’d wanted. 

And now that Felassan had had a taste of Tamaris’s skepticism and her smiles, her suspicion and the scorching sweetness of her lips, he didn’t want to give her up.

So he broke the kiss. He stepped away from her and went home and jacked off instead. And first thing this morning while he was drinking his coffee, he’d started searching for ways to contact her. 

Finding her Instagram had taken less than two minutes. Sending her a PM took barely a second. 

__

_

felassan 08:13AM  
Deep mushroom sometime?

_

_  
_

Now to wait until she replied. And he had a good feeling that she would. He just had to be patient, and patience was something that Felassan was very good at.

He tucked his phone back in his pocket and continued on his slow and leisurely way. Some fifteen minutes or so later, he pushed open the door to the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab. 

He lifted a hand in greeting to Tamlen, who was working in the main room, then sauntered down the western hallway. When he reached the heavy oak door at the end of the hall, he knocked briefly, then let himself in without waiting for a response. 

Solas was sitting at his desk and studying something on his computer. He looked up with a frown, but his expression smoothed out when he met Felassan’s eye. 

“Felassan,” he said politely, and his gaze returned to the computer. “What brings you here?” 

“I have a little time to kill before my class at one,” Felassan said. He draped himself comfortably on Solas’s couch.

“Hm,” Solas murmured vaguely. “While you’re here, would you bring me the 2017 Ghil Dirthara compilation? It’s on the third shelf to the–”

“I know where it is,” Felassan said wryly. “I’m very familiar with your library.”

Solas nodded. When Felassan didn’t move, Solas glanced over and gave him a quizzical look.

He smirked. “I’m not your student anymore. You can fetch your own books.”

A tiny frown creased Solas’s brow. “You’re closer to the shelf.”

Felassan tucked his hands behind his head. “You could use the stretch, I’m sure.”

Solas sat back in his chair. “Then _you_ can find somewhere else to wait until your class.”

Felassan _tsk_ ed and rose to get the book. “Cruel. No wonder the students call you the Dread Wolf.”

Solas huffed and started typing on his computer. Felassan wandered over to the bookshelf and selected the Ghil Dirthara compilation, then placed it on Solas’s desk.

“Thank you,” Solas said. “In any case, you will have to find somewhere else to wait. My new Master’s student will be arriving shortly.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “And you still made me get that book for you? That’s rude.”

Solas smirked at him, and Felassan sighed as he flopped back down on the couch. “Where am I supposed to go, then?”

“Go to Abelas’s office,” Solas said.

Felassan laughed. “And invite his wrath on the first day of term? I might be a risktaker, but I’m not suicidal.”

Solas huffed in amusement. “I meant that you should ask him for an office space of your own to wait in.” 

Felassan wrinkled his nose. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Solas gave him a chiding look, and he sighed again and stood up. “All right, Dread Wolf, I’m leaving.”

“Don’t call me that,” Solas said without looking up from his screen.

Felassan chuckled and headed down the east hall to Abelas’s office instead. As he wandered down the hall, he pulled his phone out and checked it. 

Still no reply from Tamaris. He smirked and tucked the phone back in his pocket. She could take her time to reply if she wanted; Felassan was in no rush. 

The slow and patient path was often the one that paid off, after all.

###  ABELAS 

Abelas tapped his pen on his desk as he reviewed the enrollment statistics for the new term. It was a good thirty seconds before he realized he hadn’t taken in any of the numbers he’d just read.

He sighed and ran a frustrated hand over his braided hair. He knew the reason he was so distracted: it was the music. 

He could hear music emanating from Athera’s office next door. The sound of it was faint, just the occasional soft hint of a melody or the ‘drop’ during the dance music songs, but it was more noise than Abelas was used to hearing during his workdays, and it was terribly distracting.

He scowled at the wall that they shared. It was past noon now, and Abelas was fairly certain that the first thing she’d done upon arriving at the lab this morning was turn on her music. It had been playing constantly since then, and he genuinely didn’t understand how she was able to focus with music playing all the time. And such bright energetic music, to boot. Abelas liked to listen to instrumental music sometimes when he was reading, but dance music? Pop music with lyrics? It was ludicrous. 

And yet, her frivolous choice of music was fitting. He’d spent some time observing her this morning as she worked, and the first thing she’d done was launch right into talking to the other members of the lab as though they were her longtime friends. She’d gone into each grad student’s office to chat, and she’d spent considerable time talking and laughing with Dagna in the library and the artifacts room. She’d even disturbed Solas by knocking on his door after he’d returned from his morning lecture, and Abelas had heard them talking together animatedly down the hall. When Athera finally settled into her office, it was with her infernal music playing. 

After observing Athera’s work for the morning, Abelas had come to one conclusion: she wasn’t taking this job seriously. 

_I will need to speak to Solas about this,_ he thought in disgruntlement. _She isn’t fit for the position._ Frankly, he wasn’t sure anyone was fit to take over any of the administrative duties of the lab, especially since the lab already ran smoothly under Abelas’s direct control. But Solas was insistent that he needed to delegate more, and it had taken a year for them to get the proposal for the research coordinator position pushed through…

Abelas sighed. He really ought to stop wishing that the research coordinator position didn’t exist. What’s done was done, and now he was stuck delegating to someone, whether he liked it or not. 

But maybe that someone didn’t need to be Athera. Especially since she was so inexperienced and flighty, with her friendly chatting and her irritatingly cheerful music and her carefree smile. 

Perhaps he could try and find someone else. In the meantime, he would tell her to turn her music down. Or maybe to turn it off altogether. 

He sighed, then went back to scanning his report. A minute later, however, someone knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” he called.

Athera poked her head in and offered him a cautious smile. “I had an idea I wanted to run past you. Do you have a minute?”

He nodded and gestured for her to approach his desk. It wasn’t like he’d gotten far with reading his report, anyway. “Tell me your idea.” 

She sidled into his office and closed the door behind her. “Do you know what a network-attached storage system is?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m unfamiliar with that term.”

Athera perked up. “Okay. It’s essentially like Google Drive – a server for storing files of whatever type you want. But _you_ own the server, and the only people who have access to it are the ones that _you_ give access to,” she explained. “You can access it from anywhere just like a Google Drive and you can basically do all the same things as Google Drive can do, but it’s private.”

Abelas narrowed his eyes. “I see. Why are you mentioning this?”

“I think you should invest in one for this lab,” she replied. 

He frowned. “We have secure storage through the university.”

“Yes, but only about 150 gigabytes, and that’s almost full now. And it’s not accessible from anywhere,” she said. “You can only access the university servers from a university computer. A NAS system — er, the network-attached storage–”

He cut her off impatiently. “You can call it a NAS.”

She nodded. “The NAS can be accessed from anywhere by anyone who has the password, so it’s way more convenient than the university servers.”

Abelas folded his arms. “We have to keep personal information about research participants on the university storage system for confidentiality reasons.”

She took a few eager steps closer to his desk. “I know, but I’m not talking about that information. I’m talking about everything else.” She widened her already-wide grey eyes. “Articles, projects that everyone is working on, drafts of documents, photos and footage from the Brecilian Forest, transcripts of interviews — wouldn’t you want to be able to access all of that easily?”

“We are already using Google Drive for that,” Abelas said with growing annoyance. 

“But Google Drive isn’t secure,” she argued. “It’s not controlled by you. And they make you pay through the nose for more storage space!”

Abelas scowled at her. Why was she being so stubborn about this? “The system we have now is working fine.”

“Just because it works doesn’t mean it can’t be improved on,” she retorted.

He pursed his lips, then finally shook his head. “I don’t like this idea.”

Athera folded her arms and lifted her chin. “Well, you’re the only one,” she said. “Everyone else in the lab thinks it’s a good idea.”

Abelas stared at her in shock, then slowly rose to his feet. “You already spoke of this to everyone else?”

She took a small step back from his desk. “I didn’t tell them we were doing it,” she said defensively. “I just… floated the idea to see if anyone had heard of a NAS before. Dagna was the only one who even knew it was a thing.”

Abelas regarded her angrily for a moment, then made his way around to the front of the desk. “Did you run this past Solas?” he asked.

“I did,” she said. “He likes the idea.”

Abelas pursed his lips and ran a hand over his braid. Athera took a few small steps closer to him. “With your permission, I’d like to start drafting a proposal to the department chair for your lab to get its own NAS. If we have the budget, that is,” she added quickly.

He eyed her in annoyance. First she had the gall to argue with him so stubbornly, and now she was looking up at him with so much childlike hope in her face? 

“Get me a quote for how much this will cost and I will consider it,” he said brusquely. 

She clapped her hands and did a little hop. “Great!”

He drew back slightly, surprised by her enthusiasm, and she sobered. “I mean, um.” She rubbed her nose awkwardly. “I’ll… I’ll get right on that.”

He nodded and waited for her to leave, but she was eyeing him now in a speculative way. He folded his arms. “Were you seeking approval for something else?” he said testily.

“Do you not like baked goods?” she said.

He blinked. He must have misheard. “Excuse me?”

She smiled crookedly and shifted from one foot to the other. “I just — I was told that you aren’t a fan of baked goods. Is it true?”

He stared at her in growing bemusement. “I’m… who told you that?”

Her smile widened. “A source who would prefer to remain confidential.”

He peered carefully at her. Was she mocking him? “Your source is incorrect: I do enjoy some baked goods. On special occasions,” he said suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged. “No reason. Just wondering.”

Abelas gave her a flat look, and she shifted from foot to foot again. “I bake sometimes. For fun.”

“I see,” he said slowly. Was there any particular reason she was telling him this?

She let out a nervous laugh and tucked a lock of hair over her ear, and not for the first time, Abelas’s attention was drawn to her chestnut-coloured hair. It was long and thick and shiny, like chocolate woven with hints of gold and spun into strands that spilled down to the middle of her back in lush waves, and not for the first time, he imagined what her hair would look like if it were twisted into the sorts of elaborate braids that were worn at formal events back home in Arlathan.

He scowled as the idle thought crossed his mind. Then there was a knock at the door. 

Before Abelas could call for the person at the door to enter, the door opened up, and Abelas pursed his lips with displeasure. Only one person was rude enough to enter his office without waiting for his permission.

Sure enough, Felassan stepped into the office. “Abelas, I’m just going to – ah, I’m interrupting.” He smiled at Athera. “You must be the new research coordinator.”

Abelas straightened and gestured at Athera. “Felassan, this is Athera,” he said formally. “She is indeed our new research coordinator. Athera, Felassan is a sessional lecturer for our program.” 

Felassan smirked. “And by that, he means that I teach the courses that Solas and Abelas didn’t want to teach.”

“That is not the reason you’re teaching those courses,” Abelas retorted. He was lying; it actually _was_ the reason Felassan was teaching those courses, but it was unprofessional to admit that in front of Athera. 

Felassan shot him an irreverent smirk, but Athera spoke before Felassan could make one of his obnoxious clever remarks. “What courses do you teach?” she asked.

“This semester it’s 100-level drawing and a graduate-level art history seminar,” Felassan said.

Athera brightened. “Oh, my friend Nare might take your seminar! She’s starting her Master’s degree. She’ll be here to meet Solas soon, actually.”

“Excellent,” he said. “You can warn her that I’m a very strict instructor.”

Athera’s eyebrows rose. “Are you really?”

He shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Not at all. I give passing marks for showing up.”

Athera chuckled, but when Abelas shot Felassan a censorious look, she cleared her throat. “I’ll, um, get you that quote before I leave today,” she said to Abelas. “Probably in a few minutes, actually.”

“Thank you, Athera,” he said.

She edged toward the door. “You’re welcome, Abelas. Professor Abelas, sorry,” she said clumsily.

Abelas nodded. Felassan, meanwhile, was wandering into Abelas’s office despite not being formally invited in. He sat on the couch – again, without invitation – and smirked at Athera. “A word of advice: if Abelas gives you a hard time, just ask him about his research at the Well of Sorrows. That’ll cheer him up.”

Abelas glared at him, but Athera paused in the doorway with a smile. “That’s right, your area of focus was the Well of Sorrows!” she chirped. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? I wrote my undergrad thesis about it.”

He scowled at her. It didn’t seem right that someone so irritating could have such a disarming smile. “I have published two books and several articles about it,” he said sharply.

Her smile faded slightly, and she bowed her head. “Then I’d be honoured to learn about it from you, _hah’ren_.”

Abelas paused, instantly deflated by her traditional manners — and for the first time since he’d met her, he felt a bit ashamed for being so snappish. 

Feeling somewhat wrong-footed now, he gazed wordlessly at her serious face. Then Felassan snapped his fingers. “I know,” he said to Abelas. “You should teach her about the Vir’Abelasan over drinks.”

Athera’s clear grey eyes went wide. Mortified, Abelas turned and glared at his colleague. “Felassan,” he said warningly. 

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “What? It’s a simple suggestion.” He looked at Athera. “He could use the outing. He never goes out.”

Athera’s eyes darted to Abelas. “You don’t? How come?”

He scowled. Her cheeks turned red, and she let out a nervous little laugh. “Okay, a quote, I’ll get – um – I’ll see you later.” She scurried back into her own office and shut her door. 

Felassan gave Abelas a chiding look. “Well, that was hardly friendly.” 

“And that was hardly professional,” Abelas scolded. He closed his own office door and frowned at Felassan. “What are you doing here? Is there some specific reason you are here?”

“No,” Felassan said casually. He cocked his head. “I thought hiring a research coordinator was supposed to make you less stressed.”

“So did I,” Abelas snapped.

Felassan lifted one eyebrow. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming her for your stress. It’s your own fault you’re stressed. You need to relax.”

Abelas gave him a resentful look as he returned to his desk. It was easy for Felassan to preach about relaxing; he’d given up on academia altogether aside from teaching. 

He sat bad-temperedly in his chair. “Remind me again what you are doing in my office.”

“Solas was busy. He has a meeting soon,” Felassan said. He took his phone out of his pocket and swiped around on the screen, then smiled.

“ _I_ am busy, as well,” Abelas said pointedly. 

“You’re always busy,” Felassan said, but he wasn’t looking at Abelas anymore; he was grinning and typing on his phone.

Abelas grunted and finally returned to his neglected report, but his eyes stared unseeingly at the numbers before him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Athera’s stubbornness.

For the five years that he and Solas had been running the Ancient Elvhen Studies program, no one had questioned his judgment. No one had criticized the way he chose to run this lab. And now, after a single day here, Athera was changing things — and not just with her suggestions about the damned NAS system. 

She was changing the ambience of the lab. She was chatting with everyone and playing her music and talking about baked goods for no particular reason. It almost felt like his sanctum was being despoiled, the gravity of his work being cheapened by laughter and levity and pop music. Athera had only been here for one day, and she was turning his lab from a serious place of study and work to a place of… fun.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like _her_ – the way she stood there looking up at him with her stubbornly jutting chin and her steely grey eyes, with those long lush ropes of chocolate-brown hair spilling down her back… 

He frowned and rubbed his forehead. He could still hear the very faint sound of her music through the wall. 

Perhaps he would start using earplugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Nare's POV! 
> 
> Do you guys like knowing whose POV is going to show up in the next chapter? Or do you want to be surprised? Let me know if you have a preference!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	6. Technically

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I keep changing the formatting of the text messages in this fic. Formatting isn’t working the way it’s supposed to, and I’m definitely not raging and am taking it totally calmly. [Narrator voice: she wasn’t.]

###  NARE 

_This is fine_ , Nare thought. _You’re going to be fine. Just play it cool and everything will be fine._

Despite her pep talk to herself, Nare was jittery with nerves as she approached the history building. With every step that brought her closer to Professor Solas, her anxiety and her eagerness seemed to surge in tandem. By the time she was making her way along the east wing toward the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab, her heart was beating so fast that it felt like a hummingbird in her chest. 

She still couldn’t quite believe her own behaviour last night at the mixer. Never in her life had she been so bold as she was last night, walking right up to Professor Solas and hitting on him like she had. Maybe she’d been drunker than she thought to flirt with him in such an obvious way. 

No, she couldn’t make that excuse. She’d only had two drinks before approaching him — only enough to burn off her nerves without even making her tipsy. But enough to burn away her usual reserve, it seemed. 

Enough for her to flirt with him so boldly that she’d forgotten to even introduce herself. By the time she’d realized her gaffe, she hadn’t wanted to spoil their flirtation with the cold reality of their impending professional ties.

 _He_ didn’t know that she’d been basically sober, though. If their supervisor meeting got awkward, she could always use alcohol as an excuse for her bad behaviour. Hopefully that shameful but believable excuse would let them resume a normal professional student-advisor relationship, which was all that Nare should be hoping for with Professor Solas anyway. 

It was just such a torturous shame that he was so fucking _attractive_. And their flirtatious conversation last night had only served to worsen her terrible crush. Now that she’d actually had a conversation in person with him, it wasn’t just his looks or his beautiful melted-butter voice that turned her on. There was something about his manner that pulled at something reckless and _restless_ in her blood — some hidden side of herself that she’d never felt comfortable showing to the men she’d been with in the past. Solas segued seamlessly from mild-mannered politeness to playfully flirtatious, and the shifting of his manner almost felt like a mirror of sorts: like Nare was seeing a side of him that was rarely shown, not unlike the boldness that he was seeming to draw out of her.

And Creators, at the end of their conversation, right before Tamaris had texted her? The way Solas had leaned toward her and lowered his voice to a low and intimate murmur? 

_You know precisely what I mean._ The heavy implication in his words, carried in the smoothness of that intimate voice… Nare shivered as she remembered it. She hadn’t stopped thinking about it last night as she and the girls made their way home. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about _precisely what he meant_ as she got ready for bed. As she lay in the cozy darkness of her bedroom, she couldn’t stop replaying the meaning of those words in her mind.

Of course she knew what he meant: he meant the breathtaking electricity between them — an electric connection that felt uncanny and unexpected, considering that they’d only just met. 

And he also meant the fact that that electricity was strongly discouraged by the institution they both belonged to. 

No, not just discouraged in their case: explicitly forbidden considering that he was her supervisor, whether he knew he was or not. But somehow, to Nare’s mild shame, the fact that this was forbidden only served to make her even more restless at the thought of his playful smile and his looming height – restless enough that she couldn’t sleep as she conjured the memory of his voice in her ear. 

Restless enough that she’d been forced to relieve her own tension by slipping her fingers between her legs while she lay in bed thinking about that gorgeous melodic voice.

She gave her head a brisk little shake. _Shut up,_ she scolded herself. She was almost at the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab now; she needed to get her mind out of the gutter and back to normal non-horny things. 

She cautiously pushed open the door to the lab. Tamlen was in the kitchenette scrolling around on his phone, and he looked up with a smile as she came inside. “Hey, Nare.”

“Morning,” she said. “Is Professor Solas here?”

“Yep, he’s in his office,” Tamlen said. He came out of the kitchenette and pointed to a short hallway that led to the west. “It’s just to the left there, at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks,” Nare said. She tried to ignore her jangling nerves as she made her way to Solas’s office, but with every step closer to the polished oak door at the end of the hall, her heart seemed to thud more loudly in her ears.

She stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath. _You’re fine,_ she told herself. _It’s going to be fine. Just act normal._ She smoothed a hand over her tidy ponytail, then knocked on the door. 

A moment later, the door opened. “Hello,” Professor Solas said. “You must–” He broke off abruptly, and his face slackened into a look of complete unguarded surprise.

His eyes darted up to the hallway, then back to her face. “What are you – how–?”

“I’m Nare,” she blurted gracelessly. 

His eyes went even wider. And for some stupid, _inconvenient_ reason, this made her want to laugh.

She smiled goofily at him, and he continued to gape at her for a second longer before straightening his posture. He took a deep breath and arranged his face into a pleasant expression, and Nare had to admire how quickly he regained his composure. 

He stood back and gestured politely. “Come in, please,” he said.

She sidled into his office and looked around curiously. The spacious office was decorated in an understated and sophisticated style, with a few bold touches: the north wall of the office was painted a dark and somehow soothing shade of red that highlighted two large and elegantly displayed paintings, both of which Nare instantly recognized as Solas’s own work. Beneath the paintings was a comfortable-looking brown leather couch, and the wall behind the desk was a simple cream colour with two more of Solas’s paintings on either side of the window. The remaining wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and two more heavily-laden bookshelves framed the door. The desk itself was polished mahogany carved in a modern style, and the surface of the desk was covered with an array of papers, open journals, and books, topped off by the computer on the left-hand side. The overhead light was off and the window blinds were half-drawn, leaving the room primarily lit by the warm diffuse light of a banker’s lamp on the desk and another lamp on the side-table by the couch.

Professor Solas closed the door quietly and joined her in the middle of the room. His expression was completely calm, but his eyes were somehow piercing as they scanned her face. 

“You are Nare,” he said finally. 

Damn it, the sound of her name in his voice… She tried to ignore the shiver of heat in her belly. “Yes,” she said. “I’m your new Master’s student.”

He studied her in silence for a moment. “Did you know who I was when you approached me last night?” he asked.

“I… yes, I knew,” she admitted.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said.

His tone was calm and not accusatory, but Nare’s belly jolted all the same. “I…” She let out a little laugh. “You probably won’t believe me, but I honestly forgot to introduce myself.”

“You forgot,” he repeated. His tone was slightly flat now, and her heart sank a bit. Shit, he was getting mad, and she honestly couldn’t blame him. 

“I really did,” she said. “By the time I remembered that I’d forgotten, I–”

He cut her off. “So you did remember eventually.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You ought to have told me when you remembered,” he said.

“I know,” she said sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t want to,” she blurted, then immediately wanted to kick herself for being so stupidly honest. He was just — his manner, the authority in his posture and his tone, it was making her so fucking flustered. 

A tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows. “Why not?

She swallowed hard. His voice and face were so neutral now, and she almost wished he would get outwardly angry instead of this heart-pounding semblance of neutrality. She toyed with the idea of telling him she’d been drunk, but there was something about the quality of his gaze on her face that stopped her. 

He was still scanning her face in that piercing way, as though he was looking for something, and for some reason, Nare didn’t want to tell him a lie. 

Even worse, there was something about his smooth neutrality that was goading that reckless little voice in her head, making her want to crack through his impassivity and bring out the warm and spirited man she’d met last night. 

Against her better judgment, she boldly lifted her chin and repeated back a version of his own words from last night – the words that had been teasing and torturing her since she had left his side. “I think you know precisely why, professor,” she said.

His eyebrows jumped up, and for a long and loaded moment, they just stared at each other. Her heart was pounding and her blood felt like it was vibrating through her veins, but as she gazed into Solas’s intense steel-and-sky-coloured eyes, she honestly couldn’t tell if it was anxiety she was feeling, or a completely different and inappropriate sort of feeling altogether. 

He stepped away from her and slowly rubbed his chin, and Nare released her breath as he approached his desk and leaned back against it. He folded his arms and gave her a frank look. “This is an unexpected complication, Nare.”

Creators, was she going to get a shiver down her spine every time he said her name? She took another deep breath to calm the buzzing in her blood. “It doesn’t need to be,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Explain.” 

She shrugged and gave him a hopeful little smile. “We could just go ahead and have our meeting as planned.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “To be clear: you wish to proceed as though nothing happened last night?”

 _Not really,_ she thought. In truth, if Nare had her choice, Solas would be sitting on that nice leather couch against the north wall, and she would be straddling his lap.

She swiftly discarded that terrible thought. “Technically speaking, nothing did happen,” she said.

“You are correct,” Solas said. “Technically.”

There was a wry twist to his voice now, and Nare smiled helplessly at the hint of warmth in his tone. “Technically is what matters, isn’t it?” she said.

“One could argue that that is the case, yes,” he said slowly. 

“Well, that’s the case I would like to argue,” Nare said eagerly. She took a small step closer to him. “I wasn’t trying to trick you last night, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not trying to… to trap you into getting in trouble or anything like that. Last night was…” _So fun and sexy,_ she thought wistfully. But she couldn’t say that, not when he was clearly feeling so cautious.

She chose her next words carefully. “We had a great conversation yesterday at a social event. I hope we can have a great conversation now in a professional setting. I applied to be your Master’s student because I admire your work – not just your art, but your historical analyses as well. I’m hoping you can help me become the kind of artist I always wanted to be. _That’s_ really what I’m hoping for, I promise.”

Solas studied her in silence for another minute — the longest minute of Nare’s life. Then, finally, he nodded. “All right. I am glad to hear that.”

Nare exhaled softly, relieved to have convinced him of her sincerity. Then Solas gestured politely to one of the two chairs that faced his desk. “Please, have a seat. I was remiss not to offer you a seat sooner.” 

“Thank you,” she said. She took a seat, and Solas made his way behind his desk to face her. Instead of sitting down, however, he clasped his hands behind his back and started to slowly pace behind his desk.

“Now, our first meeting is usually intended to get a sense of what you are hoping to achieve by the end of your two years here,” he said. “As you know, your final thesis will consist of an exhibition that will encapsulate your artistic vision and the uniqueness of your work.” He paused in his pacing and rested his fingers lightly on the surface of the desk. “You would not be here if I was not already certain of the fine quality of your work, and the potential for it to grow even further.”

She smiled at his praise and tried to act as though she wasn’t distracted by his subtly dominant posture. He nodded, then straightened and resumed his slow pacing. “Based on your ideas, I will recommend some readings that may help you refine your plans. I will give you personal assignments – studies that focus on different skills, also intended to refine your final body of work. We can begin by meeting once a week to discuss your progress and your work, but these meetings can be more or less frequent based on your needs.”

She nodded. “That sounds great.”

“Good,” he said. He finally sat in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. “Now, I am well versed in your educational background and your portfolio, and I know of your brief history working in early childhood education before you transitioned to art. But I would like to hear, in your own words, what you think you might like to express with your final thesis.”

She let out a little laugh and self-consciously ran her hand over her hair. “Honestly, I’ve spent months thinking about it, but I’m still not entirely sure.”

“That is not a problem,” Solas assured her. “One goal of this program is to help you find your unique voice and to express your message to your satisfaction.”

“Okay,” she said tentatively. “Well, I… I love painting people, as you know. Portraiture is my special interest. But a lot of my Bachelor’s degree was focused on the… the technical aspects of portraiture, if that makes sense. Colour theory, the use of light and shadow, depicting the anatomy accurately — you know, proportions, making sure their nose really _looks_ like their nose and not just a generic nose, things like that. But I just…” She hesitated as she tried to find the words to explain her thoughts. 

“I feel like there’s so much potential for portraiture to really catch who a person is, not just what they look like,” she finally said. “Or… or to catch the essence of a moment. The thing that makes a moment unique, not just… It could be so much more than faces. I guess that’s… that’s what I’m trying to say.” She trailed off lamely.

“That is an excellent place to start,” Solas said softly.

She lifted her eyes to his face. “Is it? It doesn’t sound… I don’t know. Vague?”

“Not at all,” he said. “It is every artist’s hope to evoke a reaction from their audience. There are a multitude of ways to do that. Capturing the emotion you wish for your audience to feel is an excellent way to achieve that goal.”

She exhaled and nodded, reassured by his words. “Okay.”

He sat back in his chair. “You mentioned technical aspects and that your undergraduate degree was heavily focused on refining these. Are there any particular techniques that you _do_ wish to brush up on? No pun intended.”

She smiled at his subtle jest, then dropped his gaze; the tiny playful smile on his luscious lips was making her heart beat way too hard. “Um… um, I… if I’m not doing digital painting, I most commonly use watercolours or gouache,” she said. “But I was hoping to get more comfortable with oils, since I really feel like it conveys a different mood.”

“I agree,” he said. “That is certainly something we can work on together.”

Nare nodded, unsurprised that he was comfortable with oil painting even though it wasn’t his primary painting technique. He was famous for his fresco work more than anything else, but his oil paintings were beautiful in their own right as well. 

She gave him a curious look. “Do you miss doing frescoes?”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why do you ask?”

“You told me that you’ve only done that one fresco at the fine arts museum since you came to Orlais,” she said.

His eyes widened slightly. “I… did I say that last night?”

“No,” she said. “When we spoke on the phone a few months ago.”

He blinked, then ran his hand over his smooth scalp. “Ah. Of course. I — yes, you’re correct. That fresco is the only one I have had the chance to create since I left Arlathan.”

She eyed him sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine going for so long without doing a watercolour piece. “Do you miss it?”

He nodded, and his gaze was oddly penetrating as he replied. “I do. It’s my belief that frescoes or other styles of murals are able to tell stories in a way that no other modality of painting can achieve.”

“That’s definitely true of your frescoes,” Nare agreed. “I love the symbolism and the stories in your work.”

His eyebrows rose once more. “That’s… extremely kind of you to say.” He was looking at her in a peculiar way, and Nare once again got the sensation that he was searching her face for something. 

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” he said. “I simply…” He broke off with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I see now that I should have realized far sooner who you were. We spoke on the phone, after all.”

Nare smiled. “I don’t blame you for not remembering my voice. You did most of the talking.”

A tiny snort of mirth escaped him. “I suppose I did. Forgive me. I do have a tendency to talk at length.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I like listening to you talk.”

He gave her a sharp look, and her heart skipped a nervous beat. She honestly hadn’t meant to say that.

She silently berated herself for being so transparent in her feelings. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“No,” he said suddenly. “There is no need to be sorry.” He rubbed his mouth, and Nare waited tensely for him to speak again. When he finally lowered his hand, his expression was apologetic and a little bit sad in a way that made her heart twist. 

“I… Nare, I am the one who should apologize,” he said. “I am the supervisor in this situation. Technically speaking, regardless of who spoke to whom first last night, you are free of any wrongdoing.”

She smiled, hoping to wipe the faint melancholy from his face. “Technically speaking,” she said playfully.

Just as she’d hoped, he gave her a little smile. “Yes, technically speaking.”

She pushed her luck and tilted her head coyly. “What about realistically?”

He scoffed. “Realistically…” He trailed off and rubbed his mouth once more, and Nare waited with growing curiosity — and impatience — for him to speak again.

He finally met her eye once more, and his blue-grey gaze was intense enough to stop the breath in her lungs. “Realistically speaking,” he said quietly, “it has been a very long time since… since my attention has been so captivated by anything other than my work.”

Her heart seized with excitement. She stared at his serious face in silence, tongue-tied by the boldness of his words and the rising tide of heat that felt like it was emanating from her belly and up toward her cheeks.

He suddenly stood up. “In any case, I believe this is sufficient for us to proceed with your thesis,” he said briskly. He made his way around the desk and approached one of the bookshelves near the door. “In terms of suggested readings, I will lend you–”

“Can I have your number?” she blurted.

He froze, then turned slowly to look at her. “Excuse me?”

Oh fuck, she should stop talking. She shouldn’t keep pushing him. But his confession about his attention being captivated, and the passion she could see under that polite and mild-mannered mask… She wanted to see _that_ side of him again. 

All of a sudden, Nare wanted to see that side of him so badly that she could hardly stand it. 

She stood up and took a small step toward him. “I think we should exchange numbers for supervisory reasons,” she said. “In case there are emergencies and we need to reschedule or cancel our meetings.”

“We can email each other for reasons such as that,” he said cautiously.

“What about last-minute changes? Or texting or calling if we’re running late?” she reasoned. “Email isn’t immediate enough to replace that.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Are you planning to frequently run late?”

There was a hint of humour in his tone, and it brought a smile to her lips. “I’m not planning to, but things happen,” she replied.

He huffed softly, then let out a long sigh, and Nare bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything more. If she pushed him any harder than this, she would sound desperate, and he would almost certainly refuse.

“All right,” he said, to her vast surprise and delight. Then he gave her a warning look. “For supervisory reasons only.” 

She nodded — not too eagerly, she hoped — and Solas sidled over to his desk and picked up his phone. “What is your phone number?”

Nare forced herself not to smile like an idiot as she listed out her number to him. He typed on his phone for a moment, and a second later, Nare’s phone chimed in her bag.

She fished the phone out and looked at the screen.

_519-555-7657 1:27 p.m.  
This is Solas._

A rush of exhilaration filled her chest, and this time she couldn’t hide her smile as she saved his number to her contacts. She put her phone away and beamed at him. “You were saying something about a book you wanted to recommend.”

“A… a recommended book, yes,” he said vaguely. He stepped away from her and returned to the shelf, then plucked a book from the shelf and held it out to her. “This is a compilation of works by a Tal-Vashoth artist. Their take on art and emotionality is particularly unique. I think you will find it illuminating.” 

Nare took the book, and Solas folded his hands behind his back. “I will send some articles to you by email as well. We can meet again when you have finished reading the articles.”

She nodded. “That sounds great.” 

Solas nodded as well and reached for the doorknob. “Good. It was nice to…” He trailed off and met her eyes, and Nare knew why he’d stopped himself: he was about to say it was nice to meet her.

But they had already met before. And no matter how encouraging this first supervisory meeting had been, it couldn’t compare to their electric, tempting, wonderful meeting from last night. 

She smiled at him, feeling totally giddy with excitement and nerves. “It was nice to meet you again?” she suggested.

He let out a little laugh — one of those soft chuckles that pulled deliciously at something low in her belly. “Yes, precisely,” he said.

She beamed at him, then bashfully dropped his gaze and sidled toward the still-closed door. “All right, well… I’ll see you this afternoon,” she said, and she opened his office door. 

“Pardon me?” he said.

She paused and looked at him. “At your seminar course. Your art theory and critique seminar?”

“Ah,” he said blankly. “Yes, of… of course. You are enrolled in that seminar, of course.”

She nodded and gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Er, yes. Three o’clock,” he reminded her.

“Okay,” she said, and she stepped into the hallway. “Thank you, professor.”

He held up a hand. “Please, call me Solas. If there are to be introductions.”

His tone was dry with humour. His words were a clear and pointed reference her failure to introduce herself last night, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “All right. Solas,” she said warmly. “I’ll see you later.” She gave him a little wave and left.

Once the door was closed behind her, she let out a tiny sigh of relief. Frankly, she was thrilled that she and Solas were able to establish a good professional rapport during the meeting. For a while there when they were talking about art, she’d even briefly stopped thinking about how torturously attractive he was. 

But now that their professional meeting was done, she was back to thinking again about how gorgeous Solas was. Her wayward brain was right back to thinking about his polite manner and his bold words, his slow and dominant pacing behind his desk, and _precisely what he meant_ last night… 

A heated ripple of want traced its way down her throat toward her belly, and she bit her lips to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. She’d managed to smooth things out with Solas, but if the deliciously playful manner of their parting was any indication, this wasn’t going to be the last time they discussed the heated — and forbidden — connection that was already growing between them. 

A door toward at the end of the east hall opened, and Nare looked up. Athera stepped into the hall, and her face lit up. 

“Nare!” she chirped, and she made her way down the hall toward Nare. “Hi! How was it? How was your meeting with Solas?”

Nare thought about his humour-laced voice and his sexy prowling pacing, and the nurturing way he spoke about her thesis — that nurturing and confident manner that made Nare feel certain that he would help her become the finest artist that she could be.

That nurturing, confident, _sexy_ manner that made Nare feel more certain than ever that she wanted to sleep with him.

Nare grinned at her friend. “It was really, really promising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, the jury was out about whether you guys want to know in the endnotes about whose POV is coming up, so I’m just going to tell you. Next chapter: Tamaris and Solas!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) Your wonderful artiste and creator of Nare is [the delightful Elbenherzart.](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	7. Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some long-overdue pronunciation notes!
> 
> \- Nare’s name: it's meant to be said with more of a German pronunciation than English. The easiest way to describe the pronunciation is like this: "NA-reh", but the R supposed to be a German-R sound, more toward the throat/back of your tongue rather than curling the front of your tongue. The E sound is like the E in "pet". However, I personally imagine Solas curling that R-sound a little more toward the front of his tongue, like a soft little rolling sound… [shivers] 😍  
> \- Felassan’s name: It’s pronounced as _Fel-a-SAN _, with the emphasis on the final syllable. Confirmed in[this interview with Patrick and Karin Weekes.](http://www.dumpeddrunkanddalish.com/2020/05/castles-fennecs-and-player-engagement.html)__

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris opened the apartment door for Feynriel and gave him a stern look. “All right, follow those aftercare instructions properly. No swimming, no scented moisturizer shit.”

Feynriel nodded and smiled, then winced. “Ow. Smiling hurts my face.”

Tamaris smirked. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get tattoos on your cheeks. It’ll stop hurting in a couple of days.” She tapped the aftercare instruction pamphlet in his hand. “If you have questions, problems, you call me, okay?”

He nodded and stepped out of the apartment. “Okay. Thanks again, Tamaris. For the history lesson and everything as well as the vallaslin.”

“Anytime,” she said. She waited for him to make his way down the stairs, then closed the door behind him and went to clean up the detritus of their tattoo session.

She padded down the hallway that led toward Athera’s bedroom and turned into the fourth bedroom, which did double-duty as her tattoo studio and Nare’s art studio. She threw away the crumpled witch hazel and alcohol wipes and the unused tattoo ink, and as she placed the used needle into the sharps container, she made a mental note to change the nearly-full container to a new one. 

She sighed wearily as she wiped the counter down with bleach; she already had another full sharps container in the corner, so it was probably time to take them all to the pharmacy down the street to dispose of them properly. 

When the space was clean once more, Tamaris plopped down onto her padded stool with a sigh, then reached for her phone. Just as she was about to pick it up, she remembered the message she’d received that morning.

Her belly jolted. She hesitated for a second, then picked up her phone and swiped through to her PMs on Instagram.

_felassan 08:13AM_  
_Deep mushroom sometime?_

She huffed to herself. She could practically see his shit-eating grin in the letters on her screen.

She pursed her lips as she studied the short message. In all honesty, she was surprised to hear from him. After coming home from the mixer last night with Athera and Nare, Tamaris had spent some time wondering why the fuck Felassan had left her in the alley instead of coming home with her, and she could only conclude that she must have offended him somehow. She had a tendency to do that, after all; when you were as short-tempered and indelicate as Tamaris could be, pissing people off kind of came with the territory. 

It must have been when she called him a playboy. Everything seemed like it was going fine until that point. _But that’s hardly an insult if it’s true,_ she thought in disgruntlement. Despite Felassan’s protests that he wasn’t a smooth operator, she didn’t believe him. She had no reason to believe him, after all. He was a handsome and charming man who seemed to know all the right things to say to soften her up, and the way he kissed her was nothing short of perfectly seductive, so of course she didn’t believe him.

Tamaris ultimately went to bed last night concluding that even if she had offended Felassan, it was for the best. Someone that handsome and smooth-talking could only be full of shit, so she was better off without him.

But then she’d woken up around ten to find that he had messaged her early this morning. The fact that he’d contacted her had thrown her off so much that she’d closed the app and not replied. 

Now, almost five hours after he’d sent that message, Tamaris still hadn’t replied. And she wasn’t sure she even should. What was the point, after all? She didn’t want anything other than simple and uncomplicated sex. This contact with Felassan was already more complicated than it needed to be, with his whole disappearing act last night followed by this coy message on Instagram this morning.

 _Too much trouble,_ she thought, and she closed the app once more. But as she sat there on her stool with her phone dangling from her hand, she couldn’t help but think about some of the things he’d said last night. 

He’d said she was looking for a reason to smile. It sounded like a smooth line, but there was something about the _way_ he said it that made her think he actually meant it. Something about the look on his face, like he somehow knew what it was like to be looking for a reason to be optimistic and hopeful and all that shit. 

And if he really did mean it, if he really did think she’d been searching the for a reason to smile…

 _All the more reason to avoid him,_ she thought grumpily. The last thing she needed was someone who was going to act like he knew her based solely on the look on her face. 

She sat idly on her stool for a few minutes. Then she opened Instagram and swiped through to Felassan’s profile.

It was devoid of any helpful insights, unfortunately. His profile was empty with no photos at all, not even a profile photo.

 _Fucking weird,_ she thought. She stared at her screen for a moment longer, then swiped back to her PMs.

_felassan 8:13AM_  
_Deep mushroom sometime?_

She stared at the message for a moment. Then, before she could change her mind, she replied.

_tamaris_tattoos 12:43PM_  
_your empty insta makes you look like a predator. or a grandma_

She minimized the app without waiting for a response and checked her emails instead. She read through her emails for a minute, then returned to Instagram.

_felassan 12:43PM_  
_Is that how you speak to all of your potential clients?_

She scoffed before replying.

_tamaris_tattoos 12:45PM_  
_shut the fuck up. you’re not a potential client_

_felassan 12:45PM_  
_Not with that charmingly rude attitude, I’m not._

_tamaris_tattoos 12:45PM_  
_what do you want then_

_felassan 12:45PM_  
_A repeat of last night wouldn’t go amiss._

Her heart skipped a beat, but he was typing another message.

_felassan 12:45PM_  
_The deep mushroom, I mean. Whoever your source is, the quality of their product is excellent._

Tamaris smirked despite herself. He was such a cheeky shithead.

_tamaris_tattoos 12:45PM_  
_no source. i grow my own_  
_and no, i won’t sell you any, so don’t bother to ask_

_felassan 12:45PM_  
_I wouldn’t dare ask. It wouldn’t be the same if I couldn’t enjoy the taste of your lips on the joint._

She barked out a laugh before replying.

_tamaris_tattoos 12:46PM_  
_you’re so full of shit lol_  
_you say you’re not a playboy and then you throw down a line like that_

_felassan 12:46PM_  
_And yet you replied. With a ‘lol’ to boot._  
_I must be doing something right._

_tamaris_tattoos 12:46PM_  
_you’re fucking bold you know that_

_felassan 12:46PM_  
_Only when I’m deeply inspired. But I will back off if that’s what you want._

Tamaris hesitated for a long moment. She hated to admit it, but his cleverness was extremely attractive. And the way he kissed her last night…

She nibbled the inside of her cheek for a second. Then, slowly, she tapped out another message.

_tamaris_tattoos 12:47PM_  
_fine. drinks later. what’s your number_

_felassan 12:47PM_  
_Now who’s bold?_

_tamaris_tattoos 12:47PM_  
_for fuck’s sake do you want to meet up or not_

_felassan 12:47PM_  
_I would be honoured. Let me know the time and place. 519-555-3352_

_tamaris_tattoos 12:48PM_  
_ok_  
_i’m not bringing any deep mushroom though so you’re shit out of luck if that’s what you wanted_

_felassan 12:48PM_  
_I assure you that deep mushroom is the last thing on my mind._

She huffed and closed the app. He was way too smooth. There was no way he wasn’t a playboy.

It was fine, though. She’d just meet up with him, have a drink, fuck him, and then she’d never have to see him again. 

_Good plan,_ she told herself. She went back to her bedroom and grabbed her laptop, then sat down in the living room to read her emails and messages from possible clients until her two o’clock client arrived. But as she looked through the reference pics that one possible client had sent her, she found herself thinking about Felassan and his surprising _lack_ of tattoos – specifically of vallaslin.

She supposed she shouldn’t be that surprised that Arlathani elves didn’t share the same traditions as Dalish elves. The elves that had eventually split off into the Dalish clans had left Arlathan hundreds of years ago, after all. Maybe even a thousand years ago? Athera would know the exact dates if she was here. Regardless, it was long enough for traditions to change. But still, the way Felassan described the difference between the Dalish and the Arlathani elves was interesting: _so far removed as to be incomparable._ That was a pretty intriguing statement, if Tamaris was honest. Not to mention that thing he’d said about there being a reason he had decided to stay in Orlais instead of going back to Arlathan… 

She mulled this over for a moment, then shrugged it off. _It’s probably just a ploy,_ she thought. All part of his charm to try and get her interested enough to see him again. And here she was, falling into his charming trap. 

She _tsk_ ed at herself and got up to make a cup of coffee. _It’s not falling into his trap if this is the last time I see him,_ she thought. And really, that’s all there was to it: she’d see him this one time, have sex with him, and that would be the end of it. It’s not like she was emotionally equipped to actually fall for anyone, anyway.

And certainly not for a smooth-as-fuck player like Felassan.

###  SOLAS 

Late that afternoon, after all the students and research assistants had gone home, Solas sat at the desk in his office staring absently at his computer screen.

He really should be working. He had meant to finish editing the response piece he was submitting to _the Journal of Orlesian History_ by tomorrow afternoon, and he had an early meeting with Merrill in the morning, so tonight was really the only time he had to finish the edits. 

He put on his reading glasses and signed into his computer, then opened the response piece and stared at it without taking in a single word. He really needed to focus, but his thoughts were spinning fruitlessly through his head like leaves in a windstorm, and they kept coming back to Nare. 

Nare, the irresistible woman from the bar last night — the _student_ from the bar last night. 

Nare, his Master’s student. 

He rubbed his forehead. It still felt surreal that the beautiful and tempting woman who had approached him so boldly at the bar last night was his new Master’s student. 

And to his shame, the fact that she was his student hadn’t diminished his interest in her at all.

Quite the opposite, in fact. In his art theory and critique seminar today, she had asked so many incisive questions about the ancient Elvhen principles of art criticism that he’d had a hard time keeping a straight face while answering her. And then she’d actually engaged him in a rousing debate about whether those principles were still relevant today when there was so much interaction between different forms and traditions of art. Solas was as impressed by the quality of Nare’s logic as he was by the fact that she dared to debate with him — something that few students did. 

All in all, she was proving to be just as keen and inquisitive as she was beautiful. And for Solas, this was a terrible problem. 

He blew out a bracing breath. _It is not a problem,_ he assured himself; after all, he and Nare both wanted the same thing: a good mentor-student relationship. And her behaviour during the seminar had been very professional.

If he didn’t count the intense way she watched him during the lecture portion of his seminar, or those mischievous little smiles she gave him when no one else was looking. 

He frowned at himself and ran a hand over his scalp as though to brush the thoughts away. There was no reason for him to think that she was trying to flirt with him during the seminar with her oceanic eyes or her little smiles. He was probably just imagining her to be a vixen because of the way she’d approached him last night.

That was over now, though. He ought to forget entirely about the Nare he had met last night at the campus bar, and focus solely on the Nare who was his clever and sharp-minded Master’s student. 

He sighed. If only he wasn’t finding her intelligence as alluring as her smile or the enticing curve of her spine. 

Then someone knocked on the door.

Solas’s heart leapt into his throat. Was it possible that it was Nare?

He cleared his throat subtly. “Yes?” he called. 

When Abelas opened the door, Solas couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Abelas,” he greeted. “Are you heading home shortly?”

“Not yet,” Abelas said. He entered the office and closed the door behind him. “I wanted to discuss a few things with you before we part ways for the night.”

“Certainly,” Solas said. “What’s on your mind?”

Abelas handed him a report. “The waitlists for our program’s classes are growing longer still. We should consider speaking to the head of the history department about an increase in class sizes.”

Solas scanned the first page of the report, then looked up at Abelas in surprise. “The waitlist for your fourth-year literature class has more students than the class itself.”

“You see the problem, then,” he said.

“This is not a problem,” Solas said. “This is excellent.” He smiled at Abelas. “You should be pleased that your class is so popular.”

“Hm,” Abelas grunted. “Your first- and second-year classes are also particularly in demand.”

“Not the upper year ones, however,” Solas said drolly. 

Abelas raised one eyebrow. “It seems that your reputation precedes you, Fen’Harel.”

Solas laughed. “Hearing that nickname from Felassan is bad enough. Am I to suffer it from you as well, then?”

Abelas grunted again, and Solas fondly noted the twitch of a near-smile at the corner of Abelas’s mouth. Then Abelas pointed to the report. “Speaking of Felassan: his courses are overly popular as well.” He folded his arms. “I believe it’s because he is being too lenient with grading.”

“What makes you think that?” Solas asked.

“He said as much today,” Abelas said.

Solas frowned. “He did?”

“Yes, when he was speaking to Athera.”

Solas relaxed. “Ah. It was more than likely a joke.”

Abelas pursed his lips. “I have my doubts. I will find some time to audit his classes in the next two weeks.”

“Why?” Solas said in surprise.

“To ensure that he is fulfilling his duties properly.”

Solas eyed him with growing exasperation. Abelas has always had an admirable devotion to his work, but ever since they had come to Orlais, his devotion had almost become an obsession. 

“I don’t believe that such extreme measures are necessary,” Solas said.

Abelas frowned. “It doesn’t bother you to imagine him making a mockery of our work here? You would rather let him have free reign than allow me to audit his classes?”

Solas raised his eyebrows at Abelas’s waspish tone, then slowly sat back in his chair. “It is not my place to allow you to do anything,” he said evenly. “ _You_ are the program director, after all.”

Abelas clenched his jaw, and Solas sympathetically regarded his longtime friend. “You are doing it again, you know,” he said gently. “Taking on more than is necessary to keep things running smoothly.” 

“I am not taking on too much,” Abelas snapped. “I am doing what my duty requires of me.”

Solas steadily met his eyes, then switched to Elvhen. “ _This is not the military, Abelas._ ”

“ _I am aware of that,_ ” Abelas retorted.

“ _Are you?_ ”

Abelas clenched his jaw and looked away before speaking in the common tongue once more. “I will have a word with Felassan. In private.”

“That sounds like a much better plan,” Solas said. He put his reading glasses back on and turned to his computer. “Is there anything else? I have some editing to do that requires my undivided attention.”

Abelas frowned. “For the response piece? I thought you had intended to finish that before your seminar.”

“I had, yes,” Solas said wryly. “But I have been unusually distracted.” He forced his expression to remain pleasantly neutral as he spoke. He was telling the truth, after all; he had been regrettably distracted all afternoon. There was absolutely no need to tell Abelas that the distraction was in the form of his alluring new Master’s student.

Abelas raised his eyebrows. “Distracted? That is unlike you.”

Solas gave him a small smile. “There is no need to rub it in.”

“That was not my intention,” Abelas said. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Are you in need of assistance?” 

Solas shot him a wry look. “And add another task to your overfilled plate? I wouldn’t dare, for fear that you would actually agree to take it on.”

Abelas _harrumph_ ed, but before he could reply, there was another knock on Solas’s door. 

Solas raised his eyebrows at Abelas — who else was still here at this hour? — then called out to the person at the door. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Athera poked her head in with a smile. “Hi Solas, I — oh, Abelas! I mean, Professor Abelas. I didn’t… um.” She broke off and shot them both a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was just going to let you know I finished digitizing the contents of one shelf in the archive room. I’ll—”

Abelas cut in. “You finished the first shelf?”

“Not the whole bookshelf,” Athera said quickly. “Just the top shelf of the first bookshelf.”

Abelas blinked. “You — the entire top shelf?”

Athera’s smile was fading into a cautious look. “Yes. Is that okay?”

“It’s excellent, Athera,” Solas said firmly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said. “I’ll keep going tomorrow when I have time.”

Solas nodded and smiled, and Athera smiled back at him before shifting her gaze to Abelas. “Let me know if you want me to start that proposal for the NAS system,” she said.

“Not yet,” Abelas said brusquely. “I must review the program budget first.” 

To Solas’s mild surprise, Athera wasn’t cowed by Abelas’s unfriendly tone; instead, she widened her grey eyes. “I know. I’m just saying to let me know when and I’ll get started.”

Abelas folded his arms and nodded. Then Athera tugged her ear and gave them both an awkward little smile. “Okay, uh, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Solas said politely.

She shot Abelas one last glance before leaving the office. Once she was gone, Abelas sighed and ran a hand over his braid.

Solas raised his eyebrows. “You were nearly polite. I’m impressed.”

Abelas shot him a resentful look, then rubbed his chin. “I… snapped at her earlier today,” he admitted.

Solas sighed. “Abelas…”

“Do not act as though you are surprised,” he complained. “You knew I didn’t want her here. I didn’t want a lab coordinator.”

“You said you understood the necessity of the position,” Solas said.

“I know what I said,” Abelas said in a hard voice. “I am allowed to understand the need but still be resentful.”

“As long as you don’t remain resentful for too long,” Solas said. He clicked his mouse to wake up the screen, then looked at his colleague over the top of his glasses. “You know I insisted on this position out of concern for you.”

“I am aware,” he muttered. “You remind me incessantly.”

Solas lifted his chin slightly, and Abelas sighed. “I understand the necessity, Solas.”

“All right.” Solas quickly corrected a typo, then shot him a sideways glance. “You don’t have genuine concerns about her competence, do you?”

Abelas hesitated for long enough that Solas actually paused his activities to look at him fully. “Do you truly have concerns?”

“No,” Abelas said. “She appears to be…” He sighed and ran his hand over his hair once more. “She is more organized and efficient than she appears to be.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “That sounds like praise. I don’t know if I should believe my ears.”

Abelas shot him an annoyed look. “She is trying to change things after a single day here.”

Solas smiled faintly. “Some change was inevitable when bringing in a new member of the lab. And I know you have no great love for change–”

“Don’t make me sound so inflexible,” Abelas snapped. “I left Arlathan to come to this place, did I not?”

“Reluctantly, yes,” Solas said.

Abelas folded his arms, and Solas leaned his elbows on the desk. “It is temporary, Abelas,” he said soothingly. “Just remember that. Our contract lasts for three more years, and then we can return home. But we must—”

Abelas interrupted him. “We need to obtain exclusive rights to the Elvhen ruins in the Arbour Wilds first,” he said testily. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“I know you haven’t,” Solas said. “Just remember this when you are feeling irritated. The situation is temporary.”

Abelas nodded, then took a step back from his desk. “I will leave you to your work.”

Solas shot him a knowing look over the top of his glasses. “You should leave for the night.”

Abelas replied in Elvhen. “ _The rose should not disdain the holly leaf for its thorns._ ”

Solas laughed. “Don’t quote classic Arlathani poetry at me. My current circumstances are exceptional. _You_ are a workaholic.”

Abelas _harrumph_ ed and left without a reply, closing the office door behind him. Solas chuckled as he settled back into his work, and for a time, he was actually able to concentrate on his edits. 

When his phone chimed with a text, however, his mind instantly went to Nare. 

He glanced eagerly at his phone, but a little thud of disappointment jolted his belly; it was just a text from Dorian inviting him for lunch next week. 

He sighed and turned back to his computer, but his focus was once again spoiled by thoughts of Nare — guilty thoughts about the fact that he was hoping she would text him. She had no reason to text him, after all; they wouldn’t need to meet one-on-one for another week. In fact, she would likely not need to return to the lab until their next meeting, so it was possible that he might not have any contact with her at all for an entire week. 

That thought shouldn’t disappoint him so much, especially since they had only just met. There was absolutely no reason that Solas should be this preoccupied by thoughts of Nare’s keen mind and her scintillating laugh. There was no good reason that he should be thinking this much about the way her smile shifted from shy to coquettish to heatedly brazen and bold. 

There was no reason why three encounters with this one woman should be enough to bring him to his knees. 

Or better yet, to imagine _her_ on her knees in front of him. 

A sudden flash of a fantasy invaded his mind: Nare on her knees before him wearing that lovely red dress from last night, her palms resting demurely on her knees while Solas tilted her chin up with one hand. Nare lifting her chin eagerly, bringing her smiling lips closer to the rising hardness of his shaft. Nare panting and struggling to remain upright while Solas knelt in front of her in a similarly compromising position… 

His trousers felt tight around his groin. He scowled at his lap and shifted in his chair to try and relieve the pressure. _Stop this,_ he scolded himself. It was wrong to feel this way. It was wrong to feel so drawn to Nare – to feel as though the connection they had made last night was something rare and precious, and to want to foster that connection.

Just like it had been wrong of him to confess to her during their meeting today that she was so thoroughly distracting. And it was certainly wrong for him to feel a distinct unfurling of satisfaction in his gut at the hopeful widening of her eyes when he’d made that forbidden confession.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, momentarily defeated by his own traitorous libido. He closed his eyes and briefly ran his palm over his own hardness through his trousers. Not enough to bring himself any kind of release, of course, but enough to soothe himself… and unfortunately, to worsen the fantasies that were running unchecked through his mind. 

Solas sat idly in his office chair for a time, thinking terrible tempting thoughts and cursing himself silently for his lack of discipline while his work sat untouched on the screen before him. If wanting Nare was so completely wrong, why did the wanting have to feel so torturously good?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the characters and the world are set up, the chapters will start getting longer. Also, I FINALLY got the fucking text formatting to work how I wanted it. But how do you guys like it? Is the centering ok, or would you prefer it to be left-justified?
> 
> Next up: Tamaris! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), and my partner-in-crime and creator of Vixen Nare is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	8. Feel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: BFA stands for ‘Bachelor of Fine Arts’, just in case anyone was unfamiliar.

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris closed her bedroom door and headed to the main room, where Nare was sitting with her laptop. “I’m going out,” she announced.

Nare looked up with a smile. “That’s great – ooh, you look cute!” Her eyes darted over Tamaris’s tight jeans and flowy low-backed black top. “Are you meeting a guy?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just someone from last night.”

Nare’s eyes went wide. “What? You didn’t mention that you met someone!”

Tamaris waved dismissively. “It wasn’t worth mentioning. He’s just a guy.” This was a bit of a lie; her kiss with Felassan last night was exactly the kind of gossip Nare would have loved to hear about, especially given Nare’s dry spell for the past couple of years. Tamaris would usually have told the dirty details to both Nare and Athera without giving a shit, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like telling them about Felassan.

Unaware of Tamaris’s fib, Nare nodded. “Fair enough. So I guess you’ll be back late then?”

“You got it,” Tamaris said as she pulled on her leather jacket.

“Have fun,” Nare said cheerfully. “Take a condom.”

Tamaris snorted. “Thanks, Mom.”

At the other end of the apartment, Athera poked her head out of her bedroom. “Is Tamaris going out?”

“Yes,” Nare called back. “And she looks really cute.”

Tamaris shot Nare an exasperated look. A moment later, Athera appeared. “Aw, you do look super cute! Have fun! Take a condom!”

Nare grinned, and Tamaris _tsk_ ed at them and shoved her feet into her boots. “Uh-huh. You better be asleep by the time I get back, you fucking nerds.”

They laughed, and Tamaris gave them a tiny smile before leaving the apartment. 

The meeting place she’d chosen was a smallish bar called The Neighbour’s House that she and the girls had been to a few times before. It had dim lighting and comfortable couches and booths, and the bartenders played a good mix of 80s new wave and lo-fi hip-hop. Importantly, it was in the opposite direction of the university, so the clientele boasted fewer students than the bars that were closer to campus.

She headed to the bar on foot. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk away, and she was due to meet Felassan in five minutes, which was perfect timing: by the time she got to the bar, he was already there.

It took her a minute to find him, though. He was sitting all the way at the back on one of the charmingly worn leather couches, and despite his undeniable good looks, he still managed to blend into the crowd somehow, making him oddly unnoticeable unless you were looking for him. Once Tamaris did spot him, her belly did a little twist. 

He was just as attractive as she remembered. He was wearing nicely fitted black jeans and clean Converse sneakers again, and his hair was still tied back in that loose but elegant bun at the nape of his neck. But he had switched out the t-shirt for a dark grey button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Tamaris could openly admit that his forearms looked hot as hell. 

He was scanning the bar with a neutral expression, but when his eyes landed on Tamaris, his face lit up with a smile. He shifted over on the couch to make room for her. “You kept me waiting on purpose, didn’t you?” 

She considered lying, then decided she didn’t care enough to lie. “Yeah,” she said as she sat beside him. “I didn’t want to risk being talked to by random strangers if I got here first.”

He chuckled. “I really should be flattered that you deigned to even look at me last night, shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said dryly. “You don’t want to puff up your Arlathani sense of superiority.”

“Ah yes. Thank you for the reminder,” he said. “I’m not quite ready to have you write me off just yet.” He raised a hand to flag down a waiter, and Tamaris shot him a funny look. What made him think she was going to write him off right away? Not that he was necessarily wrong, since she was planning not to see him again after tonight. But what made him think that? And why would he care about keeping her around?

A waiter sauntered over with a smile. “Hey. What can I get for you?”

Felassan looked askance at her, and she looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have an Iron Lady.”

Felassan smiled at the waiter. “The usual for me. Thank you, Krem.” 

The waiter touched his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute before walking away, and Tamaris looked at Felassan in surprise. “You know the waiter?”

“I know the names of all the staff here,” he said.

“How?” she asked. “Do you work here or something?”

He shook his head. “No. I live just up the street.”

She nodded an acknowledgment. That made things convenient if she was going to go home with him tonight. “You come here a lot, then?”

“Reasonably often,” he said. “They serve good food here earlier in the day.”

“Oh,” she said. “I actually didn’t know that. I’ve only ever come here at night before.”

“I figured that to be the case,” he replied.

Tamaris raised one eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I took you for a night owl,” Felassan said. “Was I wrong?”

“No,” she said, a little suspiciously. 

He bowed his head politely. “it’s not a bad thing. I consider myself a night owl as well.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You sent me a message at eight o’clock this morning.”

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused. “I also have a strange tendency to wake up early.”

“So are you a night owl or a morning person, then?” she demanded.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m both. Maybe it depends on the season or the day.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. “You like doing this, don’t you?”

“Doing what?” he asked. 

“Talking in circles around people,” she said bluntly. 

He gave her a slow smile that made something simmer to life in her belly. “Call it an old habit,” he said. “You are the only person who has ever called me on it, though.”

She huffed. “You must spend a lot of time around stupid people, then.”

He laughed brightly, and the sound of his mirth heightened the feeling of heat in her stomach. “Or maybe _you’re_ just extremely rude,” he said.

She smirked. “You’re right about that. Which begs the question of why you messaged me this morning in the first place.”

He draped his arm along the back of the couch, and a shiver traced down her spine at the nearness of his arm to her shoulders. “I could equally ask why you replied, if you find my so-called ‘talking in circles’ to be so obnoxious.”

“I didn’t say it was obnoxious,” Tamaris said.

“That’s kind of you,” he said pleasantly.

“I didn’t say anything kind, either,” she retorted. 

Felassan grinned. “Now who’s talking circles around whom?”

Tamaris snorted and folded her arms. At that moment, their waiter reappeared with their drinks, and Tamaris nodded a silent thanks as he set the glasses on the coffee table. Once he was gone, she took a sip of her drink before leaning back on the couch with her arms folded.

“Just answer the question,” she said. “Why did you message me?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, fine. You first.”

“My answer is simple,” he said. “I messaged you because I had an exceptionally good time last night.”

“But you walked away.”

“I certainly did. But if it puts your mind at ease, rest assured that you lingered on my mind for the rest of the night.”

She eyed him beadily. That was very smooth. “If you had such a good time, why did you leave?” she asked shrewdly.

His cheeky smile widened. “Would you have replied to my message this morning if I had stayed last night?”

Damn it, he was right. She lifted one sardonic eyebrow. “Well, you’ve got me all figured out. I guess I don’t need to tell you why I replied.”

“Come now, that’s unfair,” he said. “I want to hear it in your own words.”

“Looking for me to stroke your ego, are you?” she said snidely.

He pulled a mock-sad face. “Listen to you, assigning such distasteful motives to me. It’s very hurtful, you know.”

His tone was a humour-filled drawl, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile just a tiny bit. “Uh-huh.”

He chuckled and casually crossed his ankle over his knee. “Truthfully, I am curious why you replied. I was uncertain whether you would.”

She shrugged. “You’re interesting. Or original, at least.”

His eyebrows rose. “Original? How so?”

“Your talking-in-circles thing,” she said.

“Oh, so you _do_ like it,” he said brightly.

“It’s bullshit,” she said bluntly. “Interesting bullshit, though.”

He grinned at her, then turned away. “Krem,” he called.

A moment later, Krem appeared. “Something wrong, boss?”

“Not at all,” Felassan said. “But could you be so kind as to bring me some ice?”

Tamaris frowned. There was ice already in his drink. “Ice for what?” she asked. 

“For all these burns you’re giving me,” he replied.

She stared at his mischievous smile. Then, to her surprise, a laugh escaped her. 

She smacked his arm. “You’re so fucking full of shit.”

Felassan snickered and flinched away from her smack, and Krem rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “If there’s anything you actually need, let me know,” he drawled, and he walked away.

“Thank you,” Felassan called after him, then turned back to her with a smile. Tamaris _tsk_ ed and folded her arms, but it was too late to pretend she was mad; she was already smiling whether she liked it or not. 

Felassan continued to smile at her without speaking, and something about the soft quality of his expression made something writhe in her belly. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Take a picture, why don’t you? It’ll last longer.”

“A kind offer, but I’d rather paint one,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Are you an artist?”

“I am, in fact,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. But he’d said he had a PhD. Professional artists didn’t need PhD’s. Hell, they didn’t even need Bachelor’s degrees.

She frowned. “What kind of art do you do?”

“I’m a concept artist,” he said. “But I’d rather hear about _your_ art.”

She blinked at him. “What art?”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “You’re a tattoo artist.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. But half the time I’m doing tats of other people’s designs.”

His expression sobered a bit. “Your vallaslin was your own design.”

“Yes, but it’s inspired by Dalish traditional patterns,” she said. “It’s not entirely _my_ design.”

He leaned back slightly. “But you _do_ create your own designs.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I can.” She took another sip of her drink and set it back on the table. When she looked up, Felassan was studying her thoughtfully.

“What?” she said, a little testily.

“You don’t see yourself as an artist,” he said.

Her gut twisted. She reached for her drink again. “Well. I mean, I’m not an artist like–” She broke off before she could say Nare’s name. There was no point mentioning any of her friends to Felassan since she was never going to see him again. 

She took a gulp of her drink and set it down once more. “I don’t do fine art or any fancy shit like that.”

“But you create your own tattoo designs,” he said. “And there is significance to the designs of your own creation.”

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“Then you are an artist,” he said firmly. “No matter what the alleged elite of the fine art world would say.”

Tamaris stared at him. His tone was light and casual as ever, but his face was totally serious.

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “Did you do any schooling for the fine arts, by chance?”

“I did some,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to tell him she hadn’t finished her BFA. He would ask why, and _that_ conversation would get way too personal too fast.

He nodded. “Then you understand the degree of genuine bullshit involved in the study of fine arts.”

Despite herself, she snorted. Then she immediately felt guilty. Nare had a fine arts degree, and her education actually had helped her grow as an artist. Just because the program hadn’t been to Tamaris’s liking didn’t mean it was worthless. 

But again, she couldn’t say any of that to Felassan.

It seemed that he didn’t need to hear it, however; he was grinning at her now. “I see that you know what I mean without requiring further explanation. If your work stems from a Dalish tradition, I suspect you dealt with even more supercilious condescension than I did back in Arlathan.” 

“Maybe, yeah,” she hedged.

He nodded and picked up his drink. “Then I propose a toast. To creating true art: the kind that makes your professors’ skin crawl.”

Tamaris snorted a laugh and picked up her drink. “Fucking cheers to that,” she said. She tapped her glass to his and took a sip, then drummed her nails idly on her glass as she watched him sipping his drink.

He placed his glass on the coffee table and looked at her, then quirked his eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

 _You’re fun,_ she thought. She idly swiped some condensation from her glass. “Tell me about your art, then. I don’t really know what a concept artist does.”

“Ah,” he said. “ All right. You’ve seen _The Archdemon Rises_ films, yes?”

“Multiple times, actually,” she said.

He grinned. “You enjoy monster movies, do you? Excellent. Well, whenever you see a monster in a film like that, there is an artist or a team of artists who listened to the writer’s ideas, then took those ideas and transformed them into the monster you see on-screen. Artists who drew a dozen different possible designs for that monster, or two dozen — sometimes more. And not just the monsters. The armour that the Hero of Ferelden is wearing, the layout for the ancient city, the different classes of darkspawn, every environment and location in the film: behind all of that, behind every fantasy or sci-fi film, there is a team of artists whose job it is to take the ideas in the script and to turn those ideas into the visuals for how everything looks.”

She stared at him in genuine interest. “And that’s what you do?”

“It is.”

“That sounds fucking amazing.”

A brilliant smile lit his face, and for once, there was none of his usual mischief in the smile. “I enjoy it,” he said. “Most of the time, at least, when my clients aren’t being overly demanding.”

She snorted. “I know how that feels.”

He smirked. “I imagine you do. Do you ever turn clients away for demanding horrible tattoos?”

“Creators, yes,” she said. “I had to reject a client just yesterday because he wanted — get this — a half-naked elven woman with tits that were almost bigger than her head. And he wouldn’t even negotiate down to the woman having more accurate proportions. I basically told him to fuck off to the nearest shitty tattoo parlour instead.”

Felassan laughed. “You robbed the world of something beautiful. Who doesn’t want to see a man with a garish tattoo of an objectified woman on his arm?”

Tamaris smiled faintly. “What about you? Do you often turn down clients?”

“I work freelance, so yes, I have the freedom to accept or reject work offers as I see fit,” he said. “But I always accept the contracts that involve drawing women with breasts as large as their heads.”

His smile was teasing once more, and Tamaris snorted in amusement. “You’d better not.”

“And what if I did?” he asked. 

“I’d up and leave right now,” she replied.

He grinned. “Fortunate, then, that I have more artistic integrity than that.”

She huffed again and sipped her drink. “So you’re a concept artist. Why the PhD, then?”

His smile faded slightly. “Ah. The concept art job came after the PhD, actually. I quit academia immediately after finishing my PhD. My supervisor was… less than thrilled, shall we say. But it was for the best in the end.”

She eyed him sympathetically. That was a lot of schooling to go through to just leave academia altogether. “Do you ever regret doing the PhD?” she asked.

He gave her an odd look. “You know, nobody has ever asked me that.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly. It seemed a natural question to her. “Well? Do you?”

“It’s hard to say,” he said slowly. He stretched his arms out along the back of the couch. “There are times when I feel like I wasted four years of my life. Eight, if you include the BFA.” He tilted his head. “Then I think that this was just the path I needed to take to get to where I wanted. A slow and convoluted path, maybe, but I hit my target in the end. Now I am doing something that I truly chose.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. “You went through a trial by fire to figure out what the fuck you wanted.” 

“Precisely,” Felassan said. “That’s… Yes, exactly.” He gave her a penetrating look. “You’ve been through some trials by fire of your own, haven’t you?”

Her belly jolted again. She shrugged and swirled her glass. “Maybe.”

His expression softened. “ _Avise alas’nirelan._ ”

She frowned at him. “Flame… what?”

“‘She who dances with fire’,” Felassan said. “It is an Arlathani expression for a person who walks boldly into challenging situations knowing they might come out burnt, but who walks into them regardless.”

His smile was strangely soft. She shrugged and looked down at her half-empty glass. “That’s not… I wouldn’t say I’m really like that.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that,” Felassan said quietly. 

For some reason, his words made her heart twist. She hastily gulped the rest of her drink and placed her empty glass on the table. “So. Um. You’re from Arlathan.”

His smile curled with humour. “I am, yes. But you knew this already.”

She ignored his response. “Is that why you talk like this?”

He gracefully lifted one eyebrow. “Like what? In a circular manner?”

“No,” she said. “In a fancy polite way, like an older man who’s trying to charm someone’s pants off.”

He laughed — a soft little laugh that warmed her belly. “You’re asking if this is how all Arlathani elves talk?” he said. “In this charmingly sophisticated manner?”

“If you do say so yourself,” she said dryly.

“I didn’t say so myself,” Felassan said. “You did. It sounds to me like you’re saying I could charm your pants off with the way I talk.”

Tamaris barked out a disbelieving little laugh. “That’s not at all what I said.”

“But you do think I’m charming,” he pressed.

She shot him a chiding look. “You _are_ charming. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

He gave her a broad and incredulous smile, and Tamaris wrinkled her nose at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t believe anyone has ever complimented me with their words while simultaneously insulting me with their eyes,” he said. “I’d like to cement the uniqueness of this moment in my memory.”

“I didn’t compliment you,” she retorted.

“You did too,” he said. “You called me charming.”

“That’s not a compliment,” she insisted. “That’s a fact. It’s like the difference between calling someone handsome and being attracted to them.”

He lifted his chin slightly. “Explain.”

Tamaris sighed loudly and turned on the couch to face him fully. “Being handsome is just an objective fact,” she said. “Being attractive is subjective. It’s a matter of opinion. I wouldn’t fuck a guy who was just handsome. I’d have to be attracted to him.”

“An interesting theory,” Felassan said. “Which is it, then?”

“Which is what?” Tamaris said impatiently.

“Which one am I?” he said. “Handsome or attractive?”

She scoffed. He was so fucking cocky. “What if I said you were neither?”

“Then I’d be deeply wounded,” he said. “And I would wonder why you met me tonight.”

She clicked her tongue and looked away from him. Why was she feeling like he had talked her into a corner? And why was she actually enjoying it?

He shifted a little closer to her on the couch. “That is the real reason you met me tonight, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “It’s not because you thought I was interesting, not really. It’s because you are attracted to me.”

His voice was intimate and warm like the light of the candle on the coffee table, and it was fostering an answering warmth in her blood. She shrugged and refused to look at him. “Maybe I am,” she said casually.

“Come now, Tamaris,” he said coaxingly. “There’s no need to be coy. You met with me tonight because you want to fuck me, don’t you?”

A streak of heat bloomed through her body at the rawness of his words. Surprised into reacting, she looked at him.

Creators, his eyes: they were so brilliantly _violet_. She’d never seen such perfectly gemlike eyes in her life. 

She finally found her tongue. “Yes, okay?” she said. “I want to fuck you.”

He gave her a slow and heated smile that made her heart thump in anticipation. “Hm,” he murmured. “That’s _very_ interesting.”

Tamaris licked her lips. Felassan’s gaze was so unnervingly intent that she wanted to look away, but she couldn’t stop staring at his impossibly pretty eyes. 

“Fine then,” she said flatly. “Now that I’ve admitted it, are you going to suddenly fuck off and leave me on my own like you did last night?”

His smile widened. Slowly, very slowly and without breaking from her gaze, he shifted closer to her on the couch. By the time their knees were touching and they were almost nose-to-nose, Tamaris felt like her pulse was vibrating right beneath her skin.

Felassan tipped her chin up with one finger. “Kiss me and find out,” he murmured. 

_Smug asshole_ , she thought, and she kissed him. 

His hands immediately rose to cradle her head, his fingers slipping into her hair to caress her scalp as he slanted his lips firmly over hers, and Tamaris whimpered into his mouth. He was so… fuck, how was he such a good kisser? Was he actually that good of a kisser, or had it really just been so long since anyone had kissed her this thoroughly?

She squeezed his thigh, and he purred — an actual little growl of satisfaction deep in his throat. His lips tugged gently at hers before coaxing them apart, and Tamaris eagerly slid her tongue into his mouth. She stroked his tongue with hers, then suddenly broke their kiss. 

“What the fuck have you been drinking?” she asked breathlessly.

He laughed softly. “It’s something called Oghren’s Special Brew.”

“It’s so strong,” she complained. “I might get drunk from sucking on your tongue.”

He playfully chucked her chin. “Are you saying you find me intoxicating? You minx.”

She huffed. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she kissed him again.

This time, he slipped his tongue into her mouth instead. One of his hands slid down to curve over her waist before sliding lower still, down to her hip and around to her bottom, and then he was pulling her closer on the couch with one hand on her ass and Tamaris was panting against his parted lips… 

She fisted her hands in his button-up shirt. “Take me back to your place,” she breathed.

He chuckled softly. “Someone is demanding.”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I would be honoured if you would accompany me home.” He lifted his hand to signal for Krem, and Tamaris was so impatient to leave that she didn’t bother to argue when Felassan told Krem to put both of their drinks on his bill.

A minute later, they were outside in the slight chill of the nighttime air. Tamaris tucked her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. “All right, which way–” 

He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her into another kiss. His lips were plush and his tongue was slow as it stroked her own, and when he peeled away from her a few blissful moments later, Tamaris’s heart was hammering between her legs. 

“Come,” Felassan whispered, and he led her down the street with one hand at the small of her back. Less than five minutes later, he was tapping his key fob to unlock the foyer of a modest but nicely-appointed apartment building. 

He led her to the elevator and gallantly gestured for her to enter before him. He hit the button for the ninth floor, then leaned back against the elevator wall with his hands in his pockets. 

Tamaris folded her arms and impatiently tapped her foot as the elevator slowly ascended. She glanced up at the elevator ceiling, then sighed and looked at Felassan.

She scowled. He was watching her with a broad smile. “What?” she demanded. 

He lifted one eyebrow. “Do you always get irritable when you’re horny?”

She curled her lip at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He chuckled. The elevator door opened, and Tamaris strode out of the elevator and turned to face him. “Okay, which way? Left or right?”

Felassan sauntered out of the elevator, but instead of turning either right or left, he walked straight toward her. A second later, she was backed against the wall with his hand on the wall beside her head. 

She swallowed hard to control her excitement. His eyes were travelling slowly from her eyes to her lips, then down to her collarbones and lower to the subtle dip between her breasts, and the weight of his gaze was almost more than she could stand.

She helplessly arched her spine. “What are you doing?” she panted.

“Admiring you, of course,” he said. His eyes returned to her face. “You are exquisite, Tamaris.” 

She scoffed and hooked her fingers into his belt loop to pull him closer. “And you’re full of shit.” 

“I promise you that I’m not,” he said in a surprisingly serious tone. “But I suspect that it is easier for you if you continue believing that I am.” 

She paused, stilled from her lustful thoughts by his words. He did this a lot: said things like this, little things like he was seeing more of her than she had intended for him to see, and it was slightly unnerving. 

He stepped away from her. “This way,” he said, and he led her down the right-hand corridor. He unlocked the third door and turned on the hall light, then stepped back to let her in. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said.

She cautiously stepped into his apartment and toed off her boots, then started pulling off her leather jacket as she wandered down the short front hall. The hall opened into a living room, and around the corner to the right was a small but surprisingly well-outfitted kitchen. At the other end of the living room was a short hallway that was too dark for Tamaris to discern. 

“Would you care for a drink?” Felassan said. 

Tamaris didn’t answer. She was too preoccupied by his living room. The furniture was pretty typical for a single guy in his thirties: a plush black leather couch and a matching armchair, a black coffee table, and an enormous TV on a TV stand with multiple shelves that seemed to hold every video game console from the early 90s onwards. But the feature of his living room that was drawing all of her attention was the art on the walls. 

Five large framed paintings dominated the walls: brilliant paintings bursting with colour and energy, each of them depicting an elf-like figure contrasted with a monster — beautiful, terrible, unique monsters that were each completely different from each other, and which were unlike any monsters that Tamaris had ever seen in any TV show or movie. 

She tossed her jacket on the couch and looked at Felassan, who was in the kitchen mixing drinks. “Did you do these?”

“Yes, I did,” he said.

“Holy fuck,” she said blankly. “They’re… Felassan, they’re stunning.”

He looked up from the drinks he was mixing, and for the second time that night, his smile held only joy and no mischief. “You’re kind,” he said. “Most of my professors thought they were too plebian.”

Her jaw dropped. “Plebian? Are you kidding? These are… fuck. I don’t even have words.”

He chuckled. “A sign of a true artist. We speak more through a visual means than verbal.” He finished stirring the drinks, then approached her and offered her a tumbler.

She shot him a smirk as she took the drink. “Not you. You talk a hell of a lot.”

“You like it,” he said complacently. 

She huffed and turned back to admire his paintings again. “Tell me about them.”

He tucked his free hand in his pocket. “They were the final project for my BFA. Each of them shows a virtue or a complex emotion, and the ugly side of that virtue.”

Tamaris tilted her head quizzically. “The ugly side?”

He nodded, then pointed to first piece. “For example, this one is called ‘Desire/Possession’.”

Tamaris instantly understood. The androgynous elven figure was nude and beautiful, and the rapturous facial expression and curved body language spoke perfectly of lust. The monster in the piece was huge and looming with multiple grasping arms curling toward the elf, and one clawed hand was wrapped threateningly around the elf’s throat.

“Possession is the fucked-up version of desire,” she said slowly. She looked at Felassan. “It’s like desire gone wrong.”

“Yes, exactly,” he said. He pulled a mock-sad face. “If only you had been one of my professors.”

She smiled faintly, then pointed to the next painting. “What about this one?”

“You tell me,” he said. “What do you think it shows?”

She shot him a chiding look, but she was too interested to bother pretending otherwise. She studied the piece quietly for a couple of minutes. 

The central focus of the piece was a beautifully rendered fire. In the foreground, an elven figure was kneeling by the fire with their hands clasped as though in prayer, and their face was lit with hope. The monster seemed to be growing out of the fire — or perhaps being consumed by the fire, Tamaris wasn’t sure — but it looked ravaged and half-eaten, and it was blindfolded. 

She narrowed her eyes and hazarded a guess. “Hope and… denial?”

He smiled slowly at her. “Yes, exactly.”

She nodded appreciatively, then raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged and kept smiling at her. “The only other person who appreciated what I was trying to do with these was my PhD supervisor. Former supervisor, I should say.”

“That’s nuts. These are… they’re stunning,” she said again, then felt stupid for repeating the same praise as before.

Felassan beamed at her in a way that made her heart flip. They moved on to the next piece, and with small hints from Felassan, Tamaris figured out that the final three pieces depicted aspiration paired with envy, justice contrasted with vengeance, and sorrow versus despair.

“There was one final piece,” Felassan said, “but my former supervisor was so fond of it that he bought it.” He huffed in amusement. “The only piece of original art that I’ve ever sold.” 

“What was it called?” she asked.

“‘Wisdom/Pride’,” Felassan said.

Tamaris nodded. “I wish I could see it.”

“I have a photograph of it,” he said. “I… well. I could show you if you’re truly interested.”

He sounded unusually tentative. Tamaris frowned slightly. “Of course I’m really interested. I’d love to see it. And I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.”

He chuckled. “You do tend to speak your mind without mincing words.”

She lifted her chin. “Is that a problem for you?”

“Not at all,” he said. “It’s part of your charm.”

She relaxed slightly and raised her tumbler to her lips. “Most people don’t find it so charming,” she said.

“Most people are idiots,” Felassan said blithely.

She almost snorted her drink. She hastily covered her mouth, then grinned at him. “I can’t argue with that.”

He grinned back at her and gestured for her to follow him down the hall and into his office. They spent the next hour or so discussing Felassan’s art and the movies and video games he had worked on, which eventually segued into a general discussion of the movies and TV shows they both enjoyed, which then brought them back out to the living room where they settled on the couch and turned on _Blasto: Eternity Is Forever_ while Felassan pointed out the creatures and elements he had had a role in designing. 

At one point, during Tamaris’s favourite scene in the film, Felassan pointed at the TV. “You see that pistol that Blasto is holding? That final design is mine. I even created the 3D model–”

Tamaris waved her hand. “Hang on, hang on, shut up for a second. This is my favourite part.”

Felassan chuckled and fell silent. When the scene was over and the hero had killed a roomful of enemies, Tamaris tucked her legs up on the couch and looked at Felassan. “Okay, now you can tell me. What were you…” 

She trailed off. He was watching her with one of those soft smiles that made her heart flip in a nerve-wracking sort of way. 

She tugged self-consciously at one of her silver earrings. “What?”

“It has been a long time since I had any visitors here,” he said.

“That doesn’t surprise me, actually,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, and his smile widened. “Should I take that as an insult?”

She let out a little laugh. ”No no, I just mean it’s — I mean, aside from your art on the walls, this place is kind of bare. It doesn’t really look like you entertain much.”

“That is true; I don’t.” He tilted his head. “Does this mean I’ve convinced you that I am not a smooth-talking playboy?”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess,” she said, and she actually meant it. Over the course of the night, she really had come to believe that he wasn’t the playboy she’d originally taken him for. He was charming and smooth for sure, but his enthusiasm about his art and his obvious interest in their conversation had, against all odds, actually convinced Tamaris of his sincerity.

But now that she was thinking about it, her conviction in his sincerity came with an odd sort of unease. When Tamaris had him pegged as a playboy, he was a known quantity in her mind, and it wasn’t hard to control the impact — or lack thereof — that he had on her life. Playboys were easy and simple. They were like a piece of candy: something you enjoyed briefly and forgot about a few minutes later, no harm done. 

But now that she’d spent time talking to Felassan and getting to know him, she couldn’t call him a playboy anymore. Worse yet, she’d been enjoying getting to know him — so much so that her original intention to just fuck him and leave had fallen completely to the back of her mind.

Without meaning to, she’d done the exact thing that she’d been so certain she wouldn’t do: she was starting to like Felassan. 

Her gut twisted with unease. It had been years since she’d developed feelings for anyone — almost six years, ever since her brother Marin started getting sick, and ever since her ex-boyfriend Perron had started acting like a selfish dickhead about it. That was the last time Tamaris had bothered wasting her emotions on anyone who wasn’t worth her fucking time. 

And if Tamaris had learned anything over the last few years, it was that most people weren’t worth wasting emotions on.

Felassan chuckled, jarring her from her thoughts. “There’s no need to sound so disappointed.”

“Huh?” she said distractedly. “Disappointed about what?”

“That I’m not a playboy,” he said. “I assure you that I can still charm your pants off.”

She smiled despite her feeling of unease. “Uh-huh. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?” 

“Yeah, it is,” she said.

“I’m thrilled to hear it,” he murmured. He shuffled closer to her and trailed his thumb along her jawline, then leaned in and kissed her.

His kiss was just as good as before: the perfect blend of firm and teasing, with his caressing lips and his sleek tongue and his teeth nipping delicately at her lower lip. But this time, Tamaris just couldn’t get into it.

 _Come on, stop fucking thinking,_ she scolded herself. She tried to force her attention back to his mouth, to the way he was nibbling so delicately at her lower lip as though to coax her lips apart… 

He pulled away from her. “Is something wrong?” he said.

 _Damn it,_ she thought in annoyance. She hadn’t wanted him to notice her trepidation. For fuck’s sake, she didn’t want to deal with any emotional shit. She just wanted the simple uncomplicated fuck she’d come here for. 

“Everything’s fine,” she fibbed. She abruptly straddled his lap and started unbuttoning his shirt in the hopes that seeing his body would bring her back to the right state of mind. 

He sighed playfully and squeezed her jean-clad thighs. “Going straight for my shirt? You’re so impatient.”

She didn’t answer: thankfully, her cheap ploy to distract herself was working. The tantalizing glimpses of his golden-tawny skin were piquing her interest with every button that came undone, and when she peeled open his shirt to reveal his bare chest, her contrary body finally flared with interest. 

His chest was lean but hard, that perfect degree of fitness that was neither soft nor overly sculpted, and Tamaris eyed him greedily before placing her palms on his pecs. 

He chuckled and squeezed her hip. “You’re certainly taking liberties with my body. How would you like it if I touched you with such impunity?”

His words painted a tempting picture in her mind. Felassan’s hands on her body, sliding up her chest and molding over her breasts beneath the barrier of her top… The thought fostered a fresh ripple of lust in her core, to her vast relief.

She leaned in and brushed her lips to his ear. “Go ahead,” she murmured. “Touch me. I dare you.” Then she nipped the tender spot on his neck just below his ear. 

He lifted his hips and exhaled shakily, and Tamaris’s own breath caught in her chest; his cock was a hard ridge straining against his jeans, and the lifting of his hips instinctively made her tilt her own hips down to meet him.

She pressed her groin against the bulge in his pants. He groaned — gods, that lust-filled groan! — and his palms settled on the bare skin of her shoulder blades. 

“You’re not wearing a bra, are you?” he said huskily.

She shook her head, and Felassan smiled: a slow and wickedly heated smile. “I figured you weren’t, with a shirt like this,” he said. He caressed her shoulder blades, then curved his palms over her hips once more before sliding his hands beneath the hem of her shirt.

Tamaris stopped breathing. Felassan’s palms were a warm and delicious friction on the bare skin of her waist beneath her shirt, and they were sliding up over her ribs now, up the front of her body, oh yes oh _fuck_ — 

He palmed her breasts and circled his thumbs over her nipples, and Tamaris arched her spine with a moan. 

Felassan hummed in satisfaction and lightly pinched her nipple. “I have been thinking about what’s under this little top of yours ever since you took off your jacket, you know.” 

“And?” she panted. “Does the reality match your dirty imagination?”

He laughed: a bright rolling burst of mirth that made her blood simmer. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I’ll need to take a look.”

His eyebrows were quirked with mischief and heat, and Tamaris smirked. “You need to take a look, huh?”

“Yes,” he said. “May I?”

She pulled her top off in response, and Felassan’s eyes immediately dropped to her bare breasts. He exhaled slowly and studied her for a long moment, then looked her in the eye once more. “Beautiful,” he said. “A rare case where reality wholeheartedly exceeds my imagination.” 

She scoffed. “You’re so full of shi– _ah_!” She broke off with a little cry of pleasure as he took her nipple in his mouth. He suckled hungrily on her nipple, and his palm drifted over her other breast with a light teasing friction. 

Tamaris clenched her fingers on his abs and rolled her hips down to meet the hardness of his cock through their jeans. Felassan suckled her nipple for a moment longer, then released her nipple with another gorgeous groan before brushing his lips over the tender peak of her breast. 

Tamaris arched her spine pleadingly. “Felassan…”

“Kiss me now,” he rasped. “Tamaris, kiss me–”

She kissed him eagerly and molded her palms over his pecs once more. Then Felassan’s hands were cradling her neck and sliding into her hair, and he was angling her head to the side and gently licking her lower lip and luring her to tangle her tongue with his… 

Tamaris shamelessly curved her body toward him as she savoured his kiss. His hands in her hair were careful and slow, his fingers smoothing along her scalp in a gentle sort of caress, and with every passing second, she felt more and more like she was sinking into his kiss and all of its wonderful trappings. It wasn’t just Felassan’s lips on hers that were making her feel such bliss; it was every pass of his fingers through her curly hair and every stroke of his tongue and every soft hum of breath that he released across her lips. It was the way he was kissing her so sweetly and thoroughly, even though she was half-naked and he could be fucking her instead. 

But he wasn’t taking advantage of her obvious willingness; instead, he was taking the time to kiss her in this exquisitely careful way. As the seconds of this kiss spun out with a luxurious sort of pleasure, Tamaris realized that as slowly as Felassan was kissing her, her heart was beating fast and hard: an insistent kind of beat – a tender kind of beat. The kind of beat that was far more than just sheer, empty, _easy_ lust… 

A feeling of panic suddenly gripped her gut. She broke the kiss and leaned away from him. 

He looked at her in unguarded surprise. His eyes were feverish and his cheeks flushed with lust, but his expression was serious. 

“What’s wrong, _avise_?” he said.

 _Avise: tongue of fire_. He was calling her a nickname. No, not just a nickname, really: an endearment.

Her heart seized with a sudden ache. Felassan was calling her an endearment, and… fuck, she liked it. But if Felassan was feeling affectionate enough to call her an endearing nickname, and if she was enjoying the affectionate name… 

_I can’t do this,_ she thought. _I’m not doing this._ She pushed herself off of his lap and onto her feet. “I have to go,” she said, and she picked up her top. 

He straightened on the couch. “Wha— right now?”

“Yes,” she said. She put her top on, then picked up her jacket and headed for the door while pulling it on.

Felassan followed her to the door. “Was it something I said?” he asked. “Too much talking in circles for your taste?”

His tone was jocular, and he was smiling. She was behaving like a hot-and-cold asshole, and he was still smiling at her. 

Her heart twisted again – this time with remorse. “It’s not that,” she said. “It’s not — you didn’t — I just want to go home.” She stepped into her boots and reached for the doorknob.

“I want to see you again,” he said. 

“Why?” she blurted. 

He lifted his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“Why do you want to see me again?” she demanded. She was desperately hoping he would say that he just wanted to fuck her. If he said that, then maybe she could safely see him again without risking anything. 

To her dismay, his expression softened. “Are you really asking me that? After the evening we just had?”

 _Fuck,_ she thought. The look on his face — the tenderness in his soft violet eyes, and the way it made her feel… 

She turned away and opened the door, then stepped out of his apartment and strode toward the elevator. She hit the elevator button, and when the door immediately opened, she was extremely relieved. 

She stepped into the elevator and hit the ground floor button, then folded her arms defensively. But before the elevator doors could close, something stopped them. 

Tamaris looked up, and her heart lurched. Felassan was standing there with his shirt still unbuttoned, and he was so beautiful that he made her chest ache. 

“I’ll text you,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Tamaris.” 

His lips were still curled in that handsome shit-eating grin. And all of a sudden, Tamaris wanted to cry. 

She dropped his gaze and didn’t reply. A moment later, the elevator doors closed. 

A tear trailed down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away. _This_ was why she kept a distance between herself and the men she slept with — so she didn’t have to feel this way. 

_Fucking Felassan,_ she thought. She should never have messaged him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops ANGST ALERT. Don’t worry, any angst in this fic will be temporary! Happy endings only!
> 
> The bar name, _The Neighbour’s House_ , is from some of Varric and Blackwall’s adorable banter. The Blasto reference is from Mass Effect. I wonder if I can wedge a reference to my OG husband Garrus into this fic…? BAHAHA.
> 
> Next chapter POVs: Nare, and probably Solas too. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your lovely artiste and creator of Nare is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	9. Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ART OF THE ANCIENT BOYBAND™ THIS WEEK by our gem of an artist, Elbenherzart!! I asked for art of the boys hanging out (Felassan telling some cheeky story, Solas being amused, and Abelas being ANNOYED OF COURSE) and BOY OH BOY DID SHE DELIVER. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
> 
> Also, a small jump in time appears! A note about the passage of time in this fic: all of the couples’ timelines happen in parallel, so if a week goes by for one couple, it also goes by for all of them, if that makes sense.

###  NARE 

A week later, one whole entire week after Nare’s first meeting with Solas, she finally found herself in his office once more for their weekly supervisor meeting.

Nare had been looking forward to this meeting since the second she’d stepped out of his small seminar classroom last week. All week long, she’d kept on coming up with possible reasons to text Solas, then discarding the reasons as being too frivolous or too obviously flirtatious. Then, inevitably, she would think about his confession that she had captivated his attention. She would pick her phone up and swipe open her messages, then toss the phone onto her bed once more with a stern self-reminder that she was only supposed to text him for ‘supervisory reasons’.

All in all, when it came to her feelings about Solas, Nare was stuck in a strange sort of limbo. On the one hand, she was thrilled by how brilliant he was, and she wanted to live up to his expectations of her artistic potential, so she really wanted to maintain the excellent supervisor-student rapport that they’d been building. 

On the other hand, when she remembered the lush curl of his lips when he smiled or the sleek way he paced around his desk or the smooth cadence of his voice, all she really wanted was to fuck him. 

No, not to fuck him — for him to fuck _her_. Her most heated fantasies all revolved around things she wanted Solas to do to her. She wanted him to trail his fingers along her bare spine and push her down on that lovely mahogany desk in his office. She wanted him to slide his palm up the back of her thigh to cradle the curve of her ass. She wanted him to wrap his fingers in her hair and to use that velvet-smooth voice to explain, in detail, what he was going to do next… 

Gods save her, she _wanted_ him. She wanted him in a frenzied, heartstopping sort of way that she’d never wanted anyone else in her life — a frenzied way that she’d not even thought was possible for her to want anyone. As the week went on, her fantasies of Solas grew more insistent and more firmly entrenched in her mind, and by the time today’s meeting had rolled around, Nare was worried that she wouldn’t be able to hide how much she was lusting after him once they were alone in his office. 

Luckily, Solas had taken charge of their meeting as soon as she stepped into his office; he’d launched right into asking her what she thought of the book he’d lent her about the Tal-Vashoth artist named Tallis. To Nare’s own relief, she was actually able to form a coherent response, even though Solas looked more delicious than ever in his slim tweed blazer and his fitted slacks. 

In fact, Nare had been talking almost nonstop for the past few minutes. She paused to take a sip of tea, then continued her point. “I did a little more reading about the Qun, both in the past and how it is now, and it makes Tallis’s art even more interesting. If you think about how pragmatic the qunari are supposed to be, it’s amazing how much emotion she conveys in her figures. Not just emotion, actually,” she amended. “It’s not just the emotion that’s impressive. It’s the…” She trailed off and wracked her brain for the word she was looking for.

She sighed and shot Solas an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. The word I want is just… I can’t, um…” She awkwardly rubbed her forehead. 

“It’s all right,” Solas said softly. “Take your time. There is no rush to finish your thoughts.”

She smiled gratefully, then took another few seconds to try and muster the right words. “It’s the… um, the contrast, I guess, between the… the wildness of the feelings in the figures she paints, but also the abstract shapes that kind of look like they’re containing the emotion.” She gave Solas a pleading look. “Does that even make sense?”

Solas nodded. “I believe you are referring to the juxtaposition of reckless emotion and severe restraint in Tallis’s work.”

“Yes!” Nare exclaimed. “Yes, that’s — juxtaposition, that’s the word I was searching for!” She let out a little laugh. “Thank you. That’s exactly the word I wanted. The juxtaposition in her work. It’s such a hard balance, but I think her work does it really well.”

Solas smiled. “I agree wholeheartedly. I had hoped you would feel this way about Tallis’s work when I lent you that text. In fact, I have another volume by a different artist that I think you will equally appreciate.” He rose from his chair and approached the wall of bookshelves to search for a book. “Better yet, an exhibit for this artist will be opening in two weeks at the fine art museum.” He lifted a book from the shelf and offered it to her. 

Nare took the book. “Thank you,” she said, then gave him an apologetic look. “But, um… I have to admit, I actually haven’t finished the book about Tallis yet.”

Solas blinked, then smiled and rubbed his chin. “Ah. Forgive me. I have a tendency to become overenthusiastic.”

“That’s okay,” Nare assured him. “I like your overenthusiasm.”

His smile widened slightly, making Nare’s heart thump. Then he changed the subject. “How far into Tallis’s book did you get?”

“I just finished the chapter that focuses on her self-portraits exploring her, um… her own sexuality.” Feeling a little nervous now, Nare tucked a strand of hair over her ear. “I actually want to go back and read it a second time.”

“Was the prose particularly dense?” Solas asked. “Qunari writing can be heavily metaphorical at times.”

“No no,” she said quickly. “Actually, I… it was my favourite chapter so far.”

Solas sat in the chair beside her. “Interesting. Why was that one your favourite?”

She swallowed hard. Did it mean anything that Solas had sat in the guest chair beside her instead of returning to his own chair behind his desk? Or was Nare just reading into it because his heightened nearness was making her pulse pick up?

She nervously licked her lips. “I think Tallis is brave,” she said. “It’s hard enough sometimes to express your sexuality to your partner. Doing it through your art for everyone to see?” She shrugged self-consciously and tapped on the lid of her tea. “That would take so much courage, I think. And for Tallis, leaving the Qun? How they treat sex like it’s a non-emotional form of healing? It must have been so weird for her, coming into non-qunari norms about sex.”

“It was likely quite a culture shock, yes,” Solas agreed. “You can see it in her earlier self-portraits; there is something particularly raw and jarring about them.”

“Yeah, there really is,” Nare said. “Raw is the right word. Raw and just... honest, I guess.” She trailed off and looked down at her cup of tea for a moment before looking at Solas once more. “The qunari are lucky in some ways, don’t you think?”

“In what ways do you mean?” he asked.

“When it comes to sex,” Nare said. “Qunari women aren’t frowned on for wanting it. Or for wanting what they want.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, and Nare’s heart thumped. This conversation would have been nerve-wracking enough with any professor, but having this conversation with Solas — with the man that she wanted so desperately? 

She swallowed hard and looked down at the lid of her cup. Was she getting too personal? What she was saying about sex, the sensitive territory she was edging into now: was she really still talking about Tallis, or was she talking about herself? Was this really an appropriate conversation for her to be having with her supervisor, whether she was desperately attracted to him or not? She honestly couldn’t tell.

“There is more you wish to say about this, isn’t there?” he asked.

She looked at him. His expression was kind, and his voice was as calm as ever and not at all suggestive. But there was something about his poise, about his ever-present air of authority, that made her feel a shiver of heat nevertheless. 

She took a deep breath. _Be brave,_ she thought. _Be brave like Tallis._ “There’s a lot I could say about this,” she said.

Solas gestured politely. “Please, go on. I’m interested to hear your thoughts.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I wish sexuality was more normalized in fine art,” she said. “Women’s sexuality, I mean. As in, depicted by women themselves. When women artists try to show sexual matter, people just cheapen it or treat her like a… you know.” She grimaced. “They say things that aren’t so nice. They act like it’s crass or not deserving of a place in a museum. But it’s… sexuality is important,” she insisted. “It’s not crass. Women artists shouldn’t feel like they have to hide it or only show the parts that are… that men can accept. And not just artists,” she amended hastily. “Women in general. The more you hide things, the more you’ll start believing that you _are_ just the parts that men can see. Or that the hidden parts are – that something is wrong with you for having to hide. It’s not… it’s not fair to the hidden part.” She trailed off awkwardly, then shot him a timid glance.

He was eyeing her in a soft way that made her heart flutter nervously. She offered him a tentative smile. “Am I making any sense at all?” she asked. “I… I’m not very good with words. This is why I paint.” She laughed weakly.

“There is nothing wrong with your words, Nare,” he said quietly. “In fact, I…” He rubbed his chin for a moment, then leaned back in his seat. “I have a question for you, but you are in no way obligated to answer. And… I would like it to be clear that I am asking as your supervisor, not in… another capacity.”

Her belly flipped at his reference to that ‘other capacity’. Did that mean she wasn’t alone in her heated thoughts about him? 

Bolstered by his implication, she nodded. “All right,” she said.

He crossed his ankle over his knee. “I fully agree with your points about womanhood and sexuality. Other women artists have said similar things. But the way _you_ speak of this is… unique. More personal than academic, perhaps.”

Her belly jolted with nerves. _Be brave,_ she told herself. 

She lifted her chin as confidently as she could. “That’s a comment. Did you have a question?”

A flash of a smile crossed his face — gods save her from that breathtaking smile – then his expression grew serious once more. “Have you had to hide some part of your sexual nature for fear of being judged?”

For a split second, her heart stopped. Then it burst into a galloping beat. She inhaled slowly before replying. “I think most women have done that at some point in their lives.”

“I am not asking about most women,” he said gently. “I am asking about you.”

She stared into his pale grey-blue eyes with a painfully pounding heart. This was the most personal question that any man had ever asked her. And… Creators, she wanted to answer him honestly. But the truth was more complex and more painful than Solas was probably imagining – literally painful, to Nare’s distress.

She finally dropped his gaze. “Yes, I have,” she said. “I’ve had to hide the things I want and… and other things too. Nothing traumatic or anything like that,” she said quickly, “but just, um… other difficult… things.” She trailed off, feeling stupid for being so vague, but she couldn’t bear to be more specific than this. 

She couldn’t tell Solas about the pain she had during sex – the inexplicable pain that had started in her early twenties, and which she’d had with every partner ever since. 

She couldn’t explain how she wanted so badly for sex to feel good, but that she’d settle for it to just be not painful. How could she explain the terrible irony of longing for something so badly and dreading it at the same time? How could she explain the overwhelming frustration of having this much _need_ and being physically incapable of satisfying it, no matter how much she wanted to?

Besides, it wasn’t something she should be explaining to Solas. He was her supervisor, after all. There was no reason for him to know about this.

She stared down at her lap. When Solas finally spoke, his voice was very soft. “ _Ir abelas,_ Nare. I am so sorry.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled at him. “It’s okay.”

“It isn’t. Not truly,” he said. “It is an unfair world that makes you feel as though you are unable to express a vital part of who you are.”

Fuck, the lump in her throat was swelling. She nodded and looked away.

They were quiet for a minute longer. Then Solas stood up. “I believe I have an idea for an assignment for you,” he said. “I will need some time to flesh out the parameters of the assignment, but it will be a longer-term project, so there is no set deadline.” He leaned against his desk and folded his arms. “In essence, I would like to encourage you to find a way to express your feelings about your own sexuality through your art.”

She made a little face. For all her big talk about women openly showing their sexuality in their art, she wasn’t sure she had the guts to do it herself. 

Solas smiled faintly. “The fact that this idea makes you nervous speaks to its importance,” he said. He tilted his head. “I have no doubt that you can achieve this in time, Nare. You may feel that your words are insufficient, but artists of your caliber do not require words to get their points across.”

She let out a little laugh. “Sweet talker.”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

_Oh shit,_ she thought. That had slipped out without her thinking. She self-consciously tucked a lock of hair over her ear. “Er, I just — I mean that you’re flattering me.”

“I assure you that my praise is entirely deserved,” he said. He lifted one eyebrow gracefully. “You may have heard that I am not known to give it easily.”

She smiled, relieved that he wasn’t holding her flirt against her. “I heard that the undergrad students call you the Dread Wolf.”

“You have heard, then,” he said wryly.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Solas. I don’t find you dreadful.”

He huffed. “I am glad to hear it.” He stepped away from his desk and clasped his hands behind his back. “In any case, I had also hoped to discuss the article I sent you about the dry brush technique for oil painting. You mentioned that you had read it?”

“I did,” she said. “It was really helpful! I actually looked up a YouTube video on the technique after I read that article so I could try it out myself.” 

His eyebrows rose. “Did you? That’s excellent. How did it come out?” 

She let out a little laugh. “Oh, um… not very well. I’ll need to try again.” 

“I should like to see your first attempt,” he said. “It will give me a baseline to track your progress.”

Nare ducked her head shyly. She knew he was right, but she’d always felt uncomfortable about having people see her studies when she knew they weren’t very good. 

“All right,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll send you a photo of it. But I wanted to ask you – the artist who wrote that article said that the dry brush technique is inherently better than using thick impasto for conveying texture. What are your thoughts on that?”

He straightened. “Ah. I’m glad that point stood out to you. Personally, I feel that thick impasto and the dry brush technique are used for such different purposes that they shouldn’t be compared. That remark also leads me to believe the writer of that article is unskilled in the use of thick impasto. It is the sort of comment that smacks of inexperience.”

He was pacing slowly in front of his bookshelf as he spoke, and Nare shamelessly admired his slow and confident gait. “So do you think that there are no techniques in oil painting that are just better than others for certain purposes?”

“The choice of a technique is more a matter of the artist’s intention than a matter of one technique being better than another,” Solas said. “The writer’s insistence on the use of dry brush technique is a rather pigheaded attempt to hide his own deficiencies in the use of thick impasto. If the writer’s intent was to hide his own inadequacy, he fell woefully short.”

Nare beamed at him. He was so opinionated, and it made her feel oddly energized.

She placed her cup of tea on his desk and crossed her legs. “If you disagree with the writer so much, then why did you recommend that article to me?”

“Because his description of the dry brush technique is impeccable,” Solas said. He folded his arms and lifted one eyebrow. “I am more than capable of finding gems of valuable information among the midden heap of an insecure man’s rambling.”

Nare laughed, and Solas smiled faintly. “Does something amuse you?”

“Professor Dread Wolf,” she said playfully. “I can see it now.”

His eyebrows rose. Then he scoffed and resumed his pacing. “I’m not sure whether to be pleased or dismayed by that.”

“I hope you aren’t mad,” she said. “I mean it in a good way. I like hearing your opinions.”

“You don’t find my opinions to be contrary and arrogant?” he said dryly.

She shrugged. “You’re just speaking with authority. You’re coming from a place of greater knowledge. I think it’s…” _It’s sexy,_ Nare thought, but she couldn’t say that.

“I can forgive the arrogance if it comes with greater knowledge,” she said finally.

He paused and looked at her. “Is that truly how you feel? That pride can be forgiven if it is premised on wisdom?”

Nare tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, don’t get me wrong, being the smartest person in the room doesn’t mean that that person can act like a jerk all the time. But it does mean I’m more likely to give that person’s opinion some serious thought before writing them off as a dumb jerk. I’ll take a smart and arrogant man over a stupid and arrogant one any day.”

“One could argue that an intelligent and arrogant man is more dangerous than one who is arrogant and stupid,” Solas said.

“That’s true, for sure,” Nare said. “But I’d still rather have the intelligent man than the stupid one.”

He slowly leaned back against his desk again. “You would be toeing a dangerous line, getting involved with a man like that.”

Nare’s heart fluttered with excitement. “It would be dangerous, yes,” she said. She tilted her head coquettishly. “Good thing I have the Dread Wolf as my supervisor to scare that man away.”

Solas gazed at her intently, and Nare stared back at him, thrilled by her own boldness. Her earlier distress was all but forgotten now, entirely drowned out once more by her crazy attraction to him.

Solas finally stepped away from the desk and began slowly pacing once more. “I assure you, I would be poor protection against such danger. My bark is far worse than my bite.”

His manner was mild and innocuous, but his words instantly conjured an image in her mind: Solas gathering her hair in his fist and pulling her hair aside to bite her neck. 

A rush of heat surged between her legs. She pressed her knees together to try and quell it, then offered him a small smile. “I didn’t think that wolves barked,” she said.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “It is more of a howl, really.”

Nare stared at him. His response was so silly — not just his response, actually, but the things she was saying, too. This whole conversation was so… gods, the whole thing was so silly and so obviously _flirtatious_. Nare genuinely hadn’t meant for their conversation to go this way, but now that it had, she was feeling positively giddy. 

She grinned at him. When his face broke into a smile as well, Nare couldn’t help it: she started to laugh. A moment later, when Solas began to laugh as well, she nearly melted into a puddle on the spot. 

His laugh: spirits fucking save her, he had the best laugh. Soft and velvety and gentle, with a perfect curl of warmth that made something hot and needy unfurl deep within her abdomen. 

Another slightly hysterical little laugh burst from her lips. She covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed, and when Solas’s smile widened even further, she covered her heated cheeks with her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” she said with a giggle. “I’m sorry, Solas, I — I’m being silly. Honestly, I got a lot out of that article. And I’ll try the dry brush technique again later this week.”

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Solas said warmly. He sidled behind his desk. “Will you continue reading Tallis’s book, then? After you finish rereading your favourite chapter, at least?”

His tiny smile was like a secret, and Nare could feel her cheeks getting hotter still. She nodded shyly. “I will, for sure. I’ll try to finish it by next week so we can discuss the rest of it.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” he said. “Let’s end our meeting for now, then.” He sat in his chair behind his desk.

She really didn’t want to end their meeting, but she nodded anyway. If she stayed in his office any longer, she would probably end up doing something really stupid, like asking him if she could join him in that chair and sit in his lap.

She stood up and approached the door, then paused and turned back to face him. “Solas?”

He looked up. “Yes?”

“Have you ever… um.” She broke off, worried now that the question she was going to ask would be too personal. But he had asked her a very personal question earlier in their meeting, so it was okay if she asked him something back, wasn’t it?

_He asked you as a supervisor,_ the rational voice at the back of her mind said. But Nare’s mouth was already moving. “Do you ever feel like _you_ have to hide a part of who you are?” she asked.

He went oddly still for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “Why do you ask?”

“Sometimes I feel like you are,” she said. “Like there’s more to you than… than most people see.”

“What do you think most people see?” he asked.

“Someone smart,” Nare said. “Someone who’s polite, even if he’s in the middle of a heated debate. Maybe a little arrogant,” she said with a smile, “but only a little bit.”

He nodded slowly. “And what do _you_ see?”

_The most brain-meltingly attractive man I’ve ever met,_ she thought, but she carefully kept that thought to herself. “You have a lot of passion,” she said. “You don’t always act like it, since you are really polite most of the time. You were even polite when we… um.” She stopped herself before she could mention their flirting at the mixer last week. 

She tried again. “I just… I know the Dread Wolf is just a silly nickname that the undergrads call you. But… I don’t know. I wonder.”

“What do you wonder?” he said quietly.

She thought about Solas’s slow and confident pacing around his office, like he was unconsciously surveying his territory as he spoke to her about art and philosophy. She thought about the way he was sitting in his chair right now, like he was completely comfortable and in charge of his domain.

“I feel like I can see something wolflike about you,” she said finally.

As soon as the words left her lips, Solas’s expression changed. It was a subtle change, like a sharpening of his attention, or like there was a heated sort of gravitas entering his face, and Nare could feel her pulse ratcheting higher. 

For a long moment, she and Solas just gazed at each other without speaking. His eyes seemed more intense than usual, a stormier shade of grey than their usual luminous grey-blue, and something subtle about the tilt of his head was stoking the barely-restrained lust in her body from a simmer into a full-blown boil. 

Her heart was drumming out an excited tattoo on the inside of her ribs. Her desire for Solas was thickening, swelling in her chest and pulsing between her legs in a way that made her feel bold and reckless and _good_. As she stared into his stormy grey eyes and cursed the sheer frenzied madness of her own desire, she was struck by a sudden and breathtaking notion: maybe Solas would understand.

Maybe Solas would understand the parts of herself that Nare kept hidden: her hidden desires _and_ her hidden pain. If he was so good at grasping the seemingly-contrary juxtaposition of a Tal-Vashoth artist’s many sides, then maybe he would understand the juxtaposition of Nare’s bone-deep longing for sex, and her bone-deep fear that pain would forever deny her the kind of sex that she wanted so badly.

Maybe Solas would understand, because _he_ was used to hiding something too. For all that they’d joked about him keeping her safe as the Dread Wolf, Nare was seriously starting to think that maybe her most sensitive secrets really would be safe with him. 

And maybe… maybe he would be able to teach her how to find that deeply-desired satisfaction.

A breathtaking wash of hope and sheer mindless _lust_ tore through her body and pulsed between her legs. Goaded by her own uncontrollable body, her mouth opened again. 

“Well?” she said. “Am I right?”

He slowly wet his lips, which only served to draw her attention to his beautiful mouth. “It is possible that you have seen more than most,” he said.

She stared at him. _Fuck me,_ she thought desperately. _Please, Solas, I want you to fuck me._

He abruptly sat forward in his chair and clicked on his mouse. “Well. I think we should say goodbye for now, Nare. I will see you this afternoon.”

She blinked, totally distracted by how much she wanted him. “This aft…? Oh, seminar. Right. Um, of course.”

He smiled at her. “Are we fated to constantly forget that we will be seeing each other at the seminar?”

She let out a little laugh. “Seems like it. Maybe we should have our meetings on a different day of the week.” She tilted her head coyly. “That way we could see each other more often.”

He raised his eyebrows, and Nare waited breathlessly for him to respond. He slowly rubbed his mouth, then nodded. “That… could work. I will email you later with another suggested day to meet.”

She bit back a smile. He was acting so professional, treating her flirt like a reasonable suggestion, and this only made her feel even more excited and reckless. “Sounds good,” she said, and she reached for the doorknob. “I’ll see you later, professor.”

He shot her a chiding look. “There’s no need to call me that.”

“I know,” she said.

She watched with a growing thrill as his expression became intense again. Finally he huffed and shook his head slightly. “Until later, Nare,” he said.

His tone was wry, and Nare chuckled softly. “Bye,” she said, and she left his office. 

She made a beeline for the exit of the history building, intending to go home and release some of her own tension before she had to see Solas again at his seminar. Creators, she was horny. She could actually feel the strength of her lust pulsing in the palms of her hands and at the back of her throat. As unsatisfying as it was to have this lust be unfulfilled, it was also a relief to know that she could feel this way.

She had genuinely never felt this way about anyone before. She had hoped to want someone this badly, to feel the kind of mind-numbing lust that she read about in books and saw in movies and TV, but before Solas, it had never happened.

Now, in the space of a week, she was practically obsessed. She was hopelessly infatuated with Solas, infatuated beyond logic or reason with the most forbidden man at the entire University of Orlais, and it felt so fucking _good_ to want him this badly that she didn’t even care that it was wrong. 

Nare stepped out of the history building and took a deep breath of crisp fall air. _I need him,_ she thought. As she made her way down the steps, she mulled over her new personal goal: she needed to convince Solas to sleep with her, and soon.

She needed to convince him that they could sleep together while he was still her supervisor.

This was going to be tricky.

###  SOLAS 

Solas waited until his office door closed behind Nare’s departing back, then buried his head in his hands. What was he _thinking?_ How could he have allowed himself to sink so rapidly into such a dangerously fraught conversation with Nare?

He’d started their meeting with the best of intentions. He had purposely launched right into asking her what she thought about Tallis’s art, hoping that the ensuing discussion would keep his mind on an academic train of thought. Unfortunately for Solas, Nare’s mind was just as alluring as her beauty, and his ploy to remain impartial had ultimately failed, and in a spectacular fashion.

He’d flirted with her. _Fenedhis_ , he… he had actively flirted with his Master’s student. It didn’t matter whether Nare had started it or if he had; he was her supervisor, so it was entirely his fault that their meeting had become derailed by such suggestive talk.

But how could he have anticipated that the topic of sexuality – of Nare’s sexuality – would arise during their meeting? 

How could he have anticipated that such a discussion would make him feel so protective of her?

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Nare might have meant when it came to hiding her sexuality. She said it was nothing traumatic, which he was vastly relieved to hear, but it still left a whole range of possibilities as to what she meant.

Perhaps she was interested in both women and men. Bisexuality was nothing to bat an eye at back in Arlathan, but Solas had noticed that it was still somehow a matter of controversy here in Orlais and in other parts of Thedas, so it was possible that she was struggling with that. 

Or perhaps Nare was a virgin. He could see that being awkward for her given that she was somewhere in her mid-to-late twenties, by Solas’s estimation. But the more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed. The way she talked about hiding parts of herself had been too… wistful. Or too wise, perhaps, but in a resigned way. It seemed more likely that she had sexual experience, but that the experiences had not been good.

_All the more reason to help her bloom into her sexual nature,_ a persuasive voice said at the back of his mind. _You know you would treat her better than any younger man. You could bring her greater pleasure than any impatient and selfish lover ever could._

He scrubbed a hand over his scalp, then abruptly stood from his chair to pace around his office. He couldn’t be thinking this way. He shouldn’t be thinking about Nare’s sexuality at all. The only thing he should be thinking about when it came to Nare was her artistic growth and her intellect. 

But even her artistic potential and her sharp mind turned him on. She was witty, a fast learner, thoughtful and careful in the expression of her thoughts… 

He sighed and sank down onto the couch. He was already growing too fond of Nare, and not just for her potential as his student. The last thing he needed was a tantalizing hint of information about her sexual nature that made him want to shield her from any further negative experiences. 

The last thing he needed was to imagine himself replacing her bad experiences with better ones. To imagine himself stripping away her coyness and her clothes, baring her to his eyes and his hands and his hungry tongue, making her arch and bend beneath him until any bad experiences she’d had were washed away by the pleasure that he could give her instead…

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. His cock was a hard rod in his trousers, and he had only himself to blame for his own discomfort. The last time he’d masturbated was the night that he and Nare had met at the campus bar. After discovering that she was his student, he had refused to masturbate again, knowing that his lustful thoughts would go straight to her — and somehow, in some strange and twisted corner of his mind, he had the odd notion that if he didn’t pleasure himself while thinking about Nare, then his terrible infatuation with her was really not so bad. 

Unfortunately, this meant that every time he _did_ think about her — which was far more often than he cared to admit — his contrary cock became a distracting beacon in the space of seconds. 

He sighed and stretched out on the couch, then glanced at his watch. He had a few hours still before his seminar class: a pocket of time during which he really should be reading through the second draft of Merrill’s article about the unique composition of ancient Elvhen glass. But if his current state of mind was anything to go by, he’d be lucky if he even managed to calm his libido enough to think clearly by the time his seminar rolled around. 

He lay on the couch idly for another long moment. Then, against his better judgment, he stood up and locked his office door. 

_Just in case Felassan comes by,_ he thought. He had long given up trying to make his former protégé stop barging in whenever he felt like it. 

Solas lay back down on the couch and folded one arm behind his head. Then, guiltily, he placed his other palm over the bulge in his trousers.

_Just for some temporary relief,_ he thought. _Just enough that I can think clearly and get some work done._ He closed his eyes and ran his hand along the length of his cock.

A streak of pleasure pulsed through his core, and he closed his eyes. He stroked himself slowly, long soothing strokes of his palm along the length of his cock through the barrier of his trousers, and his mind inevitably drifted to thoughts of Nare.

Ah, Nare: his torturously alluring student, with that fiery red hair and her deep cerulean eyes that he could drown himself in. She was such an enigmatic play of contrasts: earnest and almost innocent when she was asking him academic questions, then sharp and incisive when she was debating with him. She was endearingly coy and shy at times, then stunningly bold as brass the next. 

He released a slow exhale as he stroked himself. He truly couldn’t decide whether he was more enthralled by her boldness or by her bashfulness. When she flirted boldly with him, lifting her chin and cheekily calling him ‘professor’, he had to use every ounce of will to stop himself from responding in kind. But when she was bashful, smiling shyly and tucking her hair over her blushing ears… 

_Fenedhis_ , when she was bashful like that, she gave him a different sort of urge altogether. She made him want to pull her down onto his lap. She made him want to spread her legs and bend her body to his will, to rile her up with softly whispered words and softly teasing touches until her bashfulness was gone and she was begging him instead.

When Nare was bashful and shy, she brought him to life in a completely different way. She made him want to be the wolf that she had seen in his eyes: a hungry, dark, dominant wolf that would protect her from harm and devour her in the same breath.

He inhaled shakily and squeezed his shaft. _Fenedhis_ , he wanted her desperately. Maybe he was just being fanciful and overeager, but he truly felt like he could sense something kindred in Nare — a distinct kind of push-and-pull inside of her that he resonated with. To show yourself one way and to know that there was more deep down, more that other people couldn’t see… 

But Nare could see him. And in her confession of hiding parts of herself, Solas could see parts of himself in her. The longer he laid here thinking about her and wanting her in ways that he definitely shouldn’t, the more he wished that he could show his hidden side to her. 

He’d meant it when he said she could see more than most, even though they’d technically only known each other for a week. And he knew it was wrong, but he wanted her to _see_ him. He wanted to see _her_ — to see those hidden things that she reluctantly kept tucked away. He wanted to be someone that Nare could show herself to, in more ways than one.

And oh, the thought of Nare showing herself to him… Nare laying arched and bare on his bed at home, parting her knees and showing him exactly how much she wanted him… 

His cock pulsed in his fist, and he released himself with a soft gasp. _Not here,_ he thought feverishly. He couldn't do this here. He couldn’t — no, not just here, but anywhere. 

He rose from the couch and paced around his office. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn't be thinking this way. She was his Master’s student, and he was responsible for anything that happened between them, and… and nothing should be happening between them. Nothing _was_ happening. He was her supervisor, and she was his student, and aside from a night of ill-advised flirtation and a few accidental comments during their meeting today, nothing untoward had happened.

And Solas had to keep it that way.

_I should ask Abelas for tips on how to stay disciplined,_ he thought wryly. He paced around his office for a minute longer, then finally sat at his desk and pulled up the draft of Merrill’s paper on his computer screen.

Pleased with himself for getting his mind back on track, he reached for his reading glasses — then he froze.

There was a cup of tea on the edge of his desk. Nare’s tea, which she’d clearly forgotten to take with her.

He stared at her cup for a moment. Then he slowly reached out and picked it up. 

It was half-full and still slightly warm. The barista had incorrectly written her name as ‘Naray’ on the side of the cup, and on the lid where she’d been sipping, there was a faint lip-balm print of her lips, like a whisper of a kiss on the top of the cup.

He wrapped his fingers around the still-warm cup of tea. He really should throw it away; it was unnecessary clutter on his already-cluttered desk, and it wasn’t like Nare would come all the way back to his office just to fetch her tea. Besides, he detested the stuff. 

He inhaled the astringent herbal scent, then smiled in a self-deprecating way. Somehow it was fitting that Nare had left her tea in his office. This forgotten cup of tea was an interruption of sorts, an item that didn’t belong in his professional space, and it was something he would usually completely avoid. And yet… 

He carefully returned the cup to his desk, and for another moment, he just sat there staring at it. _You are an utter fool,_ he told himself. 

He sighed. He needed some fresh air. A brisk breath of fresh September air would help get him back into an academic frame of mind.

He stood up and lifted his coat from the rack in the corner, then pulled it on as he made his way to the door. Just before he left his office, he glanced at the cup one more time.

He really should throw it out. Leaving it here in his space would serve no good. 

He tapped his fingers on the doorknob. Then he left his office and closed the door, leaving the cup of still-warm tea in the center of his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, Tallis isn’t a Tal-Vashoth, but I couldn’t find any female Tal-Vashoth on the DA Wiki. Maybe because there aren’t many female qunari who leave qunari lands since they’re not usually part of the antaam, so they’re less tempted to abdicate ~~Aaaaand I’m thinking too much about this time to shut up~~
> 
> Next chapter: Athera and Abelas!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) a humble servant to my loyal readers. Your divine artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherzart.](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	10. Lunch

###  ATHERA 

Athera scowled at her emails. Abelas was micromanaging her, and she was sick of it.

A week had gone by since she’d started working at the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab. By the end of the week, she’d gotten into a nice little routine: she arrived at eight-thirty and put on some coffee and turned on the kettle for whoever showed up that morning, and she had a quick friendly chat with anyone who was kicking around in the lab that early — usually Solas or Merrill. She turned on her computer and started up her music, then checked her emails to see if Solas or Abelas or any other lab members wanted her to do anything specific, and she made up her to-do list for the day. Before nine o’clock rolled around, she jumped into knocking things off of her to-do list one by one. Around noon or one o’clock, someone usually showed up to eat their lunch, so Athera would pause her duties for the day and have lunch with whoever happened to be there. After her hour-long lunch, she’d get back to work, pausing only to chat with anyone who stopped by, and when four-thirty rolled around, she would stop what she was doing and head on home. 

Or at least, she was doing her best to stop her work at four-thirty. She was often tempted to work late, especially if she was in a groove, but Athera knew only too well that she had to be careful not to overwork herself. 

All in all, it was a good routine, and she was really enjoying her job. The other members of the lab seemed to be happy with her work as well; Solas had told her more than once that he was pleased with how quickly she was getting things done, and Merrill and Dagna had both commented on how much easier it was to find what they were looking for since Athera had started digitizing the contents of the archive room. 

The only problem was Abelas. He just had such a _crappy_ attitude. He was always here at the lab before Athera was and he was still here when she was leaving, but he never came out to chat with her, even if they were the only two people in the lab. During the entire course of the week, he had yet to smile a single time, and the way he looked at her always made her think that the next words out of his mouth were going to be ‘get off my lawn’. 

Worse yet, as the week wore on, he’d started watching her while he worked. For the first couple of days that she was here, he’d largely left her alone to do her job. By the middle of the week, however, he’d started coming out of his office to monitor her activities. He would ask why she was doing certain things and why she wasn’t doing them the way _he_ used to do them, or why she was doing one task before the other one he’d asked her to do. After Athera answered his nitpicky questions — very politely, she might add — he would watch her. He’d stand there in the doorway with his arms folded over his muscular chest and that stupid handsome frown on his face, and he would watch her in a way that made her wonder if he’d been a prison guard or something in a former life.

And then there were the emails. She always started her day by checking her emails, but she’d started dreading the ones from Abelas. He always gave her a list of things that he wanted her to do, which she didn’t mind at all, but he’d add a bunch of micromanage-y instructions about _how_ she should do those things. Then he’d send a second email with criticisms about the way she’d done things the previous day and how _he_ would do them differently — differences that, in Athera’s opinion, were either less efficient or equally efficient as the way she was doing them.

It was now just before lunchtime. Athera had spent the better part of the morning digitizing the bottom shelf of the first bookshelf in the archive room, and she was in the process of uploading the files to the lab’s shared server. She was about to take a break for lunch while the files uploaded, but just before she left, she’d checked her inbox to find an email from Abelas.

> Athera,
> 
> You must change the file name format for the articles you have digitized thus far. You have been naming them by author and title consistent with the Minrathous Academic Standards (MSA) citation method, but our lab follows the Arlathan Language Association (ALA) citation method. You must rename the files to be consistent with the ALA standards.
> 
> I expect you to use the ALA standards in the naming of all digitized articles from now on.
> 
> Abelas

By the time Athera had finished reading the email, it felt like her head was about to explode with frustration. Solas had told her that using MSA standards for the file names was fine. If she really had to rename each of the files one by one, it was going to take her the rest of the afternoon. No, wait – it would take longer, actually, since it would mean she’d have to cancel the current upload to the university server and re-upload them with the proper names.

Oh Creators, even worse: it would mean she’d have to delete all the files she’d uploaded over the course of the week, rename them on the local drive, then upload them to the server once again. It wouldn’t just take all afternoon: it would take days. 

It was a ridiculous request. A total makework project. Besides, why did it matter if the file names were MSA or ALA standard? Both formats included the author’s last name and the full title of the article or book chapter, so both formats made it equally easy to find the files by using the search function. It made no practical difference whether the file names were MSA or ALA. It was just another example of Abelas being an overly controlling pain in the butt who didn’t seem to trust Athera to do the job she’d been hired for.

She glowered at her screen. She knew she would be better off dealing with this after lunch; her stomach had already started grumbling even before she’d read this email, and Athera was a notorious example of the concept of ‘hangry’, to the point that even Tamaris would avoid her when she was starving. The smart thing to do right now would be to leave the lab, go get some lunch to soothe herself, then come back and have a calm adult discussion with Abelas about why he was wrong. 

She took a deep breath to calm herself, then stood up and started getting ready to go out and buy some lunch. But as she was putting on her coat, she couldn’t stop thinking about Abelas’s email.

Creators, he was such a _jerk_. Not only was his email unreasonable, but it was so curt and commanding. He kept acting like he could boss her around, like she was his personal assistant who had to do exactly what he said the way he said it, but that absolutely wasn’t the case. She had a clear role here, and by bossing her around like he did, he was being so freaking rude. 

She plonked her purse down on her desk. _I can’t wait until after lunch,_ she thought angrily. She opened her office door and stepped into the hall, then glanced down at the other end of the hall.

Solas was stepping out of his office as well. “Athera,” he said politely. “Are you heading out?”

“I — yes,” she said distractedly. “I was, um. I was going to get some lunch.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is it lunchtime already?”

“Yep,” she said. “It’s almost noon.”

“Ah. Of course,” he said. He shook his head slightly as though at a private joke, then looked at her once more. “I was just going to step out for some fresh air. Would you care to walk together?”

She hesitated. She really ought to go with Solas; he was always pleasant to chat with, and some fresh air was probably a good idea to cool her temper.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but maybe another day. I have to talk to Abelas about something.”

Solas nodded. “All right. I will see you later.” He left the lab, and Athera squared her shoulders as she turned to face Abelas’s office. 

She rapped sharply on the door, and his voice called through. “Enter.”

She stepped into his office, then closed the door behind her and launched right into her complaints. “The email you just sent me about the file names is totally unreasonable.”

He looked up from his computer with a frown – no surprise there. “Excuse me?”

She strode over to his desk and folded her arms. “Your request to change the file names from MSA to ALA is totally unreasonable. Both formats include the same information. The only difference is a slight change in formatting, and it doesn’t make a difference in terms of finding the files later using the control-F function.”

His frown deepened. “Our lab exclusively uses ALA formatting in all of our publications.”

“But this isn’t for a publication!” Athera exclaimed. “This is just for how the digitized files are being stored! Nobody except the people in our lab will see those file names, and nobody but _you_ will care whether the file names are in MSA or ALA format.”

She knew she was being too snappy and that she should pull back, but she was too hangry — sorry, rightfully angry — to curb her tone. Unfortunately, Abelas clearly noticed her tone; he rose slowly from his chair and rested his palms on the desk. 

“You seem to forget that you were meant to check with me before making major changes,” he said in a hard voice.

“This isn’t a major change,” she argued. “It’s just the file names. Besides, it’s not like you had digitized files with standardized names already. I’m not changing anything, technically. I’m doing something new.”

“You still should have checked with me,” he insisted.

“I couldn’t check with you,” she said. “You weren’t here. You were teaching a class. Besides, I told you that you should let me use my own judgment about certain things.”

He narrowed his eyes, then started making his way around to the front of the desk. “You said you would continue to check with me for the first two weeks of your employment here. It has only been one week.”

“Well, you’ve been watching me so closely for this one week that maybe I figured you’d collected two weeks’ worth of observational data by now,” she said snarkily.

He stopped in front of her. “What are you referring to?”

“You know exactly what I’m referring to,” she snapped. “You hovering around me like a vulture and watching everything I do.” She lifted her chin. “I know you don’t like me, okay? You don’t like me coming into your lab and changing things around. But do you really think I’m doing that bad of a job?”

He folded his arms and glared at her. “It is not the work you’re doing that I take issue with. It is your attitude.”

She blinked. “My attitude?” she said blankly. “What’s wrong with my attitude?”

“You are not taking this job seriously,” he said. “You are not treating our work with the respect it deserves.”

She gaped at him. “I — you — how can you say I don’t take this job seriously?”

“You spend half of your time making idle conversation with the other members of the lab,” he said. “Not only are you not performing your own duties, but you are distracting them from theirs.”

“Half my — _half_ my time?” she said incredulously. “I don’t spend half my time making conversation! I’m just being friendly!”

“It is unnecessary,” he announced. “Time spent chatting is time spent not doing your work.”

She planted her fists on her hips. “Is my work suffering?”

He narrowed his eyes, and Athera waved a hand impatiently. “Come on, tell me. Have you noticed that I’m not getting my work done?”

He pursed his lips. “No,” he grunted.

“Okay, then what’s the problem with chatting sometimes if I’m still getting everything done?”

His scowl deepened, but now he just looked like he was pouting. “The chatting is unnecessary,” he repeated.

“Everything you do in life doesn’t have to be necessary!” she exclaimed. “That would be so boring! Besides, you should enjoy the company of the people you work with. If you can’t have a little fun with your colleagues sometimes, then what’s the point?”

He jabbed a finger at her. “ _That_ is my problem with you. This is not meant to be fun. This is not meant to be a place for socializing and making friends. This is a place of dedicated study.” He folded his arms once more. “I take the study of ancient Elvhen culture very seriously, Athera, and I expect everyone in my lab to take it just as seriously. You have not been treating our work with sufficient gravitas.”

Athera glared at him. His unfair accusations were raising her heart rate, sending adrenaline pumping through her veins and pounding in her ears, and the way he was looming over her with his big muscly body only made her more annoyed. Seriously, how did a full-time professor find the time to maintain such a muscular physique? 

She gestured sharply at him. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?” he demanded.

“This standing-over-me thing, like you’re trying to get in my face,” she said. She gave him a knowing look. “If it’s supposed to be a power move, it’s not working. You don’t scare me.”

His pale eyebrows jumped up, and to her surprise, he took a step back. “I… that is my mistake. It wasn’t my intention to overpower you. I did not realize what I was doing.”

She nodded, deflated slightly by his willingness to back down. “It’s, um. It’s okay.”

There was an awkward pause. Abelas was still frowning, but he wasn’t quite looking at her anymore, and she suddenly felt weird looking him in the eye as well. 

She inhaled slowly through her nose, then forced herself to look him in the face. “I got job offers at three other labs, you know,” she said. “One of them was for Professor Genitivi’s lab here at U of O. But I chose to work with you and Solas because I have nothing but respect for the work you do.” She gave him a pleading look. “Do you know how much it means to the Dalish and the city elves alike to have someone from Arlathan actually teaching us about Arlathani culture? Teaching us about the ancient people that we were all born from, even if our cultures are so different now? It’s…” She trailed off and shook her head in wonder. “You and Solas and your colleagues back in Arlathan who have shared their work — you’re giving us information that we’ve never had access to here in the rest of Thedas. I almost wish I was doing my undergrad now so I could specialize in ancient Elvhen studies instead of being forced to focus on the human-centric history of Thedas.” 

She paused. Abelas was finally looking her in the eye once more, and for some reason, his clear golden gaze made her nervous. 

She took another bracing breath. “I have nothing but respect for the work you and Solas and the others are doing here,” she said again. “And now you’re accusing me of not respecting your work here because… why? Because I’m friendly? Because I like talking to people and making friends?”

He frowned but didn’t reply. Athera tilted her head. “Can I ask you something? You haven't read my undergrad thesis about the Well of Sorrows, have you?”

“I haven't, no,” he said.

She nodded, not at all surprised. “I sent it to you and Solas by email when I was hired, because Solas asked me about it. But _you’ve_ never asked me about it once, even though it’s your area of special interest.” She took a small step closer to him. “I’ve read every article you’ve ever written — all the ones that were translated to the common tongue, at least. Your book chapter about the importance of metaphor and poetry for analyzing historical Elvhen texts was the reason I wanted to write my thesis on the Well of Sorrows.” She frowned at him. “I respect the work you do here, Abelas. I think your work is fascinating, and I really would love to hear you talk about it more. But you won’t even give me the time of day.” She shrugged. “If you ask me, _you’re_ the one who has no respect.” 

He didn’t reply. The muscles in his jaw were jumping with tension, and a tiny wiggle of anxiety tugged at her belly. Creators, she really should have had her lunch before blasting in here. 

Tired now from her outburst — and from her grumbly stomach — she waited glumly for him to tell her to get out of his office. 

He bowed his head. “You are correct.” 

She blinked. “Huh?”

He pursed his lips. “I said that you are correct. About your respect for our work, at least. You do take our discipline seriously. My criticism in that respect was unfounded.”

She gaped at him stupidly, stunned that he actually was admitting that he was wrong. Then she straightened and folded her arms once more. “You still think I’m having too much fun at my job, though.”

He shot her a flat look. “I can only concede so much. Furthermore, I do not like your music.”

She wilted in exasperation. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I can just use earphones.”

“That is not necessary,” he said. “I bought earplugs.”

She stared at him. He’d bought earplugs rather than telling her off for playing her music? That seemed out of character. 

She had a sudden mental image of Abelas wearing big foam orange earplugs with his sharply tailored blazers, and a snort of laughter escaped her. 

He scowled. “What is so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she said hastily. She rubbed her nose to hide her smile, then looked up at him once more. “So… so the file name thing. Are you seriously going to make me change the file names? I’ll tell you now that it will take the entire day and it’ll delay the upload of the archives to the university server.”

He frowned at her for a moment longer, and she widened her eyes hopefully. He finally ran a hand over his impeccable white braid and sighed. “Fine,” he grunted. “Leave the file names as they are.”

 _Victory,_ she thought happily. She straightened and beamed at him. “Okay. Well, I’m going to go get some lunch.”

He nodded and returned to his chair behind his desk, and Athera studied him appraisingly as he settled back into his chair. For someone who was so _stubborn_ all the time, it turned out that he was actually capable of admitting when he was wrong. It was honestly the last thing she had expected. 

But then again, how could she know what to expect of him? Aside from his academic background, she didn’t know anything about him.

On impulse, she opened her mouth. “Would you like to come for lunch with me?”

He looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

He was looking at her as though she’d asked him to help her hide a body, but she stood her ground. “Come and have some lunch with me,” she said. “I never see you eating lunch. Do you even eat lunch?”

“I eat in my office while I work,” he said.

That figured. “Do you bring your lunch from home, then?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I eat a meal replacement bar and a smoothie from home, yes.”

“A meal replacement bar?” she said. “That’s… not very tasty.” She was going to say that it was sad, but that would seem mean.

He frowned. “I do not eat large lunches. They make me sluggish.”

She smiled at the thought of Abelas getting sluggish after a big meal. It probably offended him to have his body getting sleepy without his permission. “Well, you should make an exception today,” she said firmly.

“For what purpose?” he said.

She gave him a chiding look. “For fun, Abelas. Just this once.”

His frown deepened, so Athera hastily tried a different tack. “Fine then, for a collegial meeting. I mean it when I say I want to hear about your Well of Sorrows work. Will you come and tell me about it over lunch?”

He pursed his lips into a very thin line, and Athera waited for him to say no. But once again, he surprised her.

“Fine,” he said. “I will make an exception just this once.”

She perked up. “Okay, great!” She waited while he put on his coat and tucked his phone into his pocket. He politely gestured for her to step out of his office, and she was oddly aware of his broad shoulders and superior height as he followed her down the hall. But as they left the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab, Athera realized something: she was going to have to make conversation with stoic, stern, silent Abelas for an entire hour. 

Well, this ought to be interesting.

###  ABELAS

He shouldn’t have agreed to have lunch with Athera. Why had he agreed to this? It was a waste of time.

He frowned as he accompanied her to the exit of the history building. He should have stayed in his office and had his usual working lunch. Now that he was taking an unnecessary break, he was going to have to make up for it by staying later tonight. He still had five papers left to grade for the fourth-year literature course, and Felassan had sent him an aggravating email saying that he would be changing the final assignment for the first-year drawing class, so that would take some time to review. 

This lunch was a waste of time. There was so much to do. How did Athera manage to take an entire hour-long lunch break every day and still get all of her work done?

“What are you in the mood for?” Athera said.

Jolted from his thoughts, he looked down at her. “What did you say?”

“I said, what are you in the mood for? What do you want for lunch?”

“I told you that I do not usually eat large lunches,” he said. “You must decide.”

She tilted her head chidingly. “This is when I would usually suggest something that I know you hate just to force you to pick, but I actually have no idea what kind of food you hate or like.”

He gave her a flat look. “Choose something, Athera. I will eat it.”

She shrugged. “All right then, let’s go for ramyeon.”

He frowned. “Ramyeon?”

“Yes, ramyeon,” she said. “Hercinian noodle soup. You said I should choose, that’s what I’m choosing.” She jerked her head to the west. “Come on, there’s a great place that’s just five minutes away.”

He reluctantly followed her along the street. The sun was bright, and Abelas couldn't help but notice the way it brought out the warm golden undertones of her chestnut-brown hair.

She smiled at him. “So! Tell me about yourself. What do you like to do in your spare time? Do you have hobbies?”

He raised one eyebrow. “Is this your idea of a collegial lunch? Asking personal questions?”

“This is my idea of a polite conversation with a colleague, yeah,” she said dryly.

He frowned. “You’re implying that I am impolite.”

She tilted her head in an equivocal way. “Not impolite, but… okay, look, you’re a little scary.”

“You said before that I did not scare you.”

“You _don’t_ scare me,” she replied. “But I’m not the only person in the lab.”

“You’re suggesting someone else in the lab is scared of me?” he said.

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “Okay, maybe. But I can’t tell you who.”

“Why did you bring it up if you weren’t going to tell me?” he said in exasperation.

“I didn’t bring it up!” she said defensively. “You’re the one who asked.”

He sighed. “And this is why I do not engage in polite conversation with colleagues.”

To his surprise, she chuckled. “Fine, fine, you hate small talk. My friend Tamaris hates it too. You guys would get along great.”

He frowned and didn’t reply, but this didn’t seem to deter Athera in the slightest. “Seriously though, what do you like doing in your spare time?” she asked. “Everyone has a hobby. I think you can learn a lot about someone by knowing what their hobbies are.”

He still didn’t understand why she wanted to learn more about him, but it seemed that she wouldn’t drop the subject unless he told her. “I enjoy physical training,” he said. “It is a regular part of my routine.”

“Oh, you work out a lot, huh?” she said. “That makes sense.”

“How so?” he said.

She gestured at his chest. “Just with how, um… never mind.” She cleared her throat, then smiled brightly at him. “So, working out! Do you have a gym membership, or…?”

This was such an odd line of questioning, and he still didn’t see the point of it. “I have a home gym,” he said.

She nodded again. “And is there a reason you work out so much?”

“Do I need a reason?” he said slowly.

She shrugged. “No. It’s just kind of surprising. It’s not often you see university professors who are so, um… so, uh, muscly.”

“The physical training came long before my academic career,” he explained. “But the habit of daily training has remained.”

She raised her eyebrows. “What did you do before you were a professor? Were you a professional athlete or something?”

“No,” he said. “I was in the military.”

“What?” she blurted.

“The military,” he said more loudly. “I was–”

“No, I heard you,” she interrupted. “I just… I’m surprised. But I guess I shouldn’t be. It explains a lot.” She blinked up at him with her big grey eyes. “The Arlathani military? Wow. That’s… wow. Were you in the military for long?”

“Eight years.”

Her eyes widened even more. “Eight years? That’s — that seems like a long time. Is that a long time?”

“The required service period is one year and eight months for an active duty soldier, so yes,” he said. “It was a long time.”

“So you stayed in the army on purpose?” she said.

He frowned. “Yes. It was my honour to serve and protect my nation through military service.”

“I guess that’s fair,” she said cautiously. “So… hang on a second, how old are you?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Athera, this line of questioning is in no way collegial.”

She made a little face. “I know, I know, I’m being so nosy, but you’ve got me curious now! If you were in the army for eight years, how old were you when you joined?”

“I was eighteen years old,” he grumbled.

She nodded thoughtfully. “So you were twenty-six when you got out of the army. But you have a PhD and a three-year post-doc and you’re a professor… how did you manage to do all that schooling in such a short time?”

“I did my Bachelor’s degree by distance learning while I was in the military,” he said wearily. “It took six years because I did it part-time. Professor Solas was the instructor for some of my online classes, in fact.”

“He was?” she said in surprise. “But he’s — I thought he was your age!”

Abelas shot her an exasperated look. “You are oddly preoccupied with our ages.”

“If you just told me how old you are, then I’d stop harping about it,” she said pointedly.

He sighed loudly. “I am forty years old. Solas is forty-two.”

“How was he your instructor if he’s only two years older than you?” she asked.

“He began his Bachelor’s degree when he was fifteen,” Abelas explained. “He is uncommonly gifted.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. “Holy crap. I didn’t know that. Okay, so… so you finished your Bachelor’s degree when you were twenty-six?”

He nodded, and Athera went on while counting on her fingers. “Then you did a Master’s-turned-to-PhD and three years of postdoc. So you finished all that by the time you were… what, thirty-three? Thirty-four?”

“It is good to know that you are capable of rudimentary mathematics,” he said waspishly.

She blinked at him. Then, to his surprise, a smile burst across her face. She started to laugh, and Abelas scowled at her despite his suddenly thrumming heart. 

“Why are you laughing at me?” he demanded.

“I’m not laughing _at_ you,” she giggled. “I’m just – that was so sarcastic. You took me off guard.”

He pursed his lips and looked away from her smiling face. “I didn’t intend to make you laugh.”

“Well, you did,” she said warmly. “And yes, I can do rudimentary math. And fairly advanced stats, in case you need reminding.”

“I’m aware of your qualifications,” he muttered.

“Okay,” she said pertly. “Just making sure.”

They walked in silence for a few seconds. Then Athera pointed to a small but tidy-looking restaurant to the left. “That’s the ramyeon place,” she said. “I usually just get takeout since they’re usually hopping at this time, but I think we might be in luck today.” She led him into the restaurant, and Abelas waited silently as she greeted the waitress like an old friend. The waitress led them to a table for two at the back, and Athera smiled at her as they took their seats. 

“I think we’re ready to order right away, actually. Can I get the classic pork ramyeon? And for him…” She looked at Abelas. “Do you like spicy food?”

“No,” he said.

“Do you eat meat?”

“Yes.”

Athera nodded, then looked up the waitress. “The classic chicken ramyeon for him, then. Thanks, Flissa.”

The waitress smiled at her and left, and Athera turned to him with a smile. “I figured the chicken would be a good lean protein choice for someone who works out a lot. Have you had ramyeon before?”

He shook his head, and Athera rested her elbows on the table. “I hope you like it. This place does the best Hercinian ramyeon and side dishes that I’ve had since I left Kirkwall. It’s almost as good as the place that I used to go to with Nare and Tamaris when we lived there.”

He nodded and didn’t speak, and Athera gave him a knowing look. “All right, I get it. You’re tired of the small talk, aren’t you?”

That actually wasn’t what he’d been thinking. Truthfully, he just didn’t know what to say. It had been years since he had been in this situation — sitting in a restaurant across from a pretty woman and talking about personal things. It almost felt like a date, and Abelas didn’t know how to feel about it. 

The last time he’d been on a date was… _fenedhis_ , he couldn’t quite remember. Before he had left home, certainly. He’d been seeing someone casually back in Arlathan, but she ended their liaison a few months before he’d left Arlathan to come to the University of Orlais. 

He dismissed his thoughts. They were irrelevant, anyway, since this was not a date. It was a lunch between two work colleagues, even if Athera’s conversation was about non-academic topics. 

They ought to return to academic topics, then. He folded his arms. “I noticed yesterday that Tamlen was conducting a literature search for Dagna.”

“Yes!” Athera said brightly. “It’s great, right? I was planning to help him with it later, since this is his first time doing one.” She shook her head. “It’s never going to stop bugging me that all undergrads aren’t taught how to do a lit search properly. It’s always just kind of assumed that people will figure out how to do it on their own, but it needs to be done systematically if don’t want to miss any possible sources, you know?”

He nodded in agreement. Just last year, he and Solas had specifically incorporated two hours’ worth of lecture material and an assignment about conducting literature searches into each of their first-year history courses, in order to make up for the woefully inadequate instruction in this specific skill.

He eyed Athera speculatively. “Teaching Tamlen how to conduct a literature search is beyond the scope of your job.”

Her smile faded, and she leaned forward. “Look, if you’re trying to suggest that I’m wasting time or goofing around, I’m going to have to disagree with you. If the RAs can’t conduct proper lit searches, then they might be missing articles that the grad students really need to review.” She folded her arms. “Besides, if it’s not my job to teach him, then whose is it? Yours, right, since you’re a professor, but I don’t see you teaching Tamlen anything.”

He narrowed his eyes at her unprecedented attack. “You are mistaken. Tamlen is in my third-year history course. I teach him every week.”

“You should take him under your wing more,” she insisted. “He wants to join your lab as a master’s student once he’s done his undergrad, you know. He really admires your work. He wants to be _your_ student.”

Abelas narrowed his eyes. “I do not supervise students.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

He scowled, and she winced. “Okay, l know I’m being nosy again. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I’ve never heard of a tenured prof being able to get away with not supervising any students.”

“Not that it is your business, but Solas and I are not tenured professors,” he said stiffly.

Her eyes widened. “You’re not?”

“No,” he said. “We are contracted. And part of our contract was that _we_ choose how we divide our research and supervisory duties. Again, not that it is your business.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head. “Do you not like supervising?”

“No, I don’t,” he snapped. “But it is none of your–”

“Okay, all right, I’m backing off,” she said hurriedly. “My point is that there’s nothing wrong with Tamlen learning how to do a proper lit search. It’s a skill that’s totally glossed over in most undergrad classes, and if he wants to be a Master’s student, he should really learn to do it properly. You have to agree with that, at least.”

“I do agree with that,” he said in annoyance. “And I commend you for teaching him to conduct a proper literature search.”

“You… commend me?” she said slowly.

He nodded. “You went beyond your duties by teaching him to do that. You did more than was necessary. I appreciate what you have done.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh… oh shoot.” She covered her mouth, then grimaced. “You were trying to thank me, and I jumped down your throat.”

“So to speak, yes,” he said stiffly.

“Oh gods,” she said faintly. “ _Del’dirthem._ I’m sorry, Abelas. Professor Abelas, I mean.”

 _Del’dirthem: I misspoke_. It was a traditional Arlathani apology, and the only way she would have known to say this was by reading about it in one of the articles he or Solas had written.

His shoulders loosened. “ _Lanastem_ ,” he said. 

She offered him a tentative smile. At a loss for words once more, he smoothed a hand over his hair and glanced around the restaurant. 

Thankfully, the waitress returned a few seconds later with their food. She set one bowl of noodle soup in front of Athera and one in front of Abelas, then laid out a series of small shareable side dishes between them.

Athera beamed at the waitress, then picked up her chopsticks. “So you did your Master’s degree in classic Elvhen literature and your PhD and post-doc in history with a focus on the connection between Elvhen history and literature, right?”

“Yes, that… that’s correct,” he said. Truthfully, he was distracted by what she was doing: she was picking up pieces of the side dishes and placing them in his bowl instead of eating them herself. It seemed like an oddly intimate thing to do.

He gathered his wits and picked up his chopsticks. “That is correct. My doctorate thesis focused on the mutual influence between historical and fictional accounts of events, and specifically on the importance of literary metaphor in deciphering old Elvhen texts.”

“You focused on one particular tablet that was found in the ancient city of Arlathan, right?”

“Yes, I did.” He studied her shrewdly. “How did you know that? My thesis has not been translated into the common tongue.”

“You mentioned it in your book chapter,” she said. “The one that influenced my thesis.” She gestured at his bowl with her chopsticks. “Eat your ramyeon, it’s getting cold.”

He started to eat. For a couple of minutes, they were both quiet aside from the soft clink of chopsticks to bowls, and Abelas watched surreptitiously as Athera ate her noodles. She demurely hid her mouth with one hand while bringing the noodles to her mouth with the other, and there was something strangely charming about her method of eating that made it hard for Abelas to look away. 

She glanced at him, then swallowed and lowered her hand. “Is something wrong? Don’t you like it?”

He forced his gaze down to his bowl. “It’s good,” he said, and he continued to eat. 

Athera huffed in amusement. “I hope you won’t be too sluggish to work after lunch.” 

“As do I,” he said wryly.

She laughed, and something in Abelas’s stomach did a little twist. There was something strangely carefree about the sound of Athera’s laughter that reminded him of hearing a baby laugh.

He smiled faintly at her, and her cheeks suddenly turned pink. She ducked her head and quickly started eating another mouthful of noodles.

Abelas eyed her appreciatively for a moment longer before turning his attention back to his food. It really was a tasty dish; the broth was richer than he expected, flavoured with mushrooms as well as chicken, and the meat was perfectly tender. There was a neatly-halved soft-boiled egg in his bowl as well, and he gingerly used his chopsticks to convey the egg to his mouth. 

Athera placed a piece of marinated tofu in his bowl. “Have you ever written any fiction works?”

He swallowed the piece of egg. “Why do you ask?” He eyed the tofu, then tentatively picked it up and placed it in his mouth.

“I can tell that you love literary fiction,” she said. “You’ve also written some critiques of poetry collections. I was just wondering if you’ve written any fiction or poetry or anything of your own.”

He swallowed the tofu before replying. “I have,” he said. “Many years ago, before I became a professor. I wrote a number of short stories and a poetry collection.”

“Can I read them?” she asked.

“No, you can’t,” he said.

Her face fell. “Why not?”

“They are only published in Elvhen.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I actually can read some Elvhen, you know. I took classes in undergrad.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “They would have taught you Dalish Elvhen. The language is not the same as that which is spoken by my people.”

She frowned. “The accent is different, I know—”

“It is not just the accent,” he said. “The vocabulary, certain grammatical structures, the figurative use of language… Dalish Elvhen is not the same as the language of Arlathan.”

She set her chopsticks down. “Fine. They’re not the same. But it’s still enough to be able to read basic Elvhen, right?”

“Basic, yes,” he said. “But I fear that you would miss the more complex layers of meaning in an Arlathani text.”

“Well, I’d still like to try,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “You wish to branch into reading Arlathani Elvhen literature by reading _my_ work?”

“Yes, if that’s okay,” she said firmly.

He frowned. “Why my work? Why not some other author?”

“Because I know you,” she said. “It’s a treat to know the writer of the thing you’re reading.” She shrugged and picked her chopsticks up once more. “I dunno, I just think that having creative friends is really cool. I have a framed portrait by Nare in my bedroom, and I think it’s so awesome that it was painted by one of my best friends. And every day when I look in the mirror, I get to see Tamaris’s art on my cheeks.” She gestured to the vallaslin that curved over her cheekbones. Then she hastily waved her hand. “I mean, I know you and I aren't friends, we’re just work colleagues, but it would still be nice to read the work of someone I know.”

He took another bite of noodles and chewed them slowly. Then he nodded. “I will bring copies and lend them to you.”

She beamed at him. “Really? That’s — wow, thanks! Can I ask you for help translating them if I get stuck?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I will bring you an Arlathani dictionary as well.”

She smiled slowly, then let out another joyful laugh. She placed another piece of tofu in his bowl. “You’re kind of funny sometimes.”

He scoffed. “It is not on purpose.”

“Accidental humour, huh?” she said wryly. “I guess this is what happens when you eat a big lunch.”

He huffed in amusement, and they both ate in a peaceful silence for a moment. Then Abelas looked at her once more. “If you are in dire need of translation help, I will assist you.”

She beamed at him. “ _Ma serannas, hah’ren._ ”

He nodded, pleased by her manners. Then he tore his gaze away from her lovely smile and focused on finishing off the last few bites of his ramyeon.

A few minutes later, the waitress came with their bill, and Abelas paid for their lunches as a departmental expense. Shortly after, they were making their way back to the history building. 

Athera smiled up at him. “So this wasn’t so bad, right?”

“It was an inefficient use of time,” he said.

She scoffed. “Sure, but you had fun, right? At least a little bit?”

“It wasn’t entirely unpleasant,” he admitted.

“Not entirely unpleasant? That’s high praise,” she said drolly. “I’ll take it.” 

He lifted one eyebrow. “I was referring to the ramyeon.”

She laughed brightly. “Ouch. Fine, I get it. Well, I’m still glad to have gotten you out of the lab.”

He grunted. “You sound like Felassan.”

“And you sound like Tamaris,” Athera said. “It’s like pulling teeth to get her to go out sometimes too.”

“A kindred spirit, it seems,” he said dryly.

“Yeah, except she doesn’t stay in because she’s a workaholic,” Athera said.

Abelas scowled. Why was everyone always calling him this? “I am not a workaholic. I work as much as I want to.”

“Don’t you want to do other things, though?” she asked.

“Like what?” he said testily.

“Well, you said that you haven’t written any short stories or poetry since you became a prof,” she said. “Don’t you want to do more of that?”

“We cannot always do what we want,” he said sharply. “There are duties and responsibilities that must come first.”

“I know, but duties and responsibilities can’t be your entire life,” she said. “It’s dangerous to let your work take over so much of your life, or to put so much pressure on yourself with your work.”

He gave her an arch look. “Let me ask _you_ something, now. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-seven,” she said.

He scoffed. “Twenty-seven. No wonder you are so concerned about having fun. What do you know about the pressures of work?”

To his surprise, her expression became oddly weary. “Maybe you can ask me that another time when you’re not trying make the point that I’m young and stupid,” she said quietly. 

A guilty feeling poked at his gut. He had clearly hit a nerve, but he wasn’t certain how to undo his gaffe; she was looking unusually melancholy now, and he didn’t want to upset her any further.

They made their way back to the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab in silence. They let themselves into the lab and made their way down the western hallway, and when they were standing in front of their office doors, she finally looked at him once more. 

“Well, thanks for lunch. For expensing it to the lab, I mean,” she said. “That was… you didn’t have to do that.”

“You are welcome,” he said.

She nodded and unlocked her office door, but before she could step into her office, Abelas held up a hand.

“Athera,” he said.

She glanced at him. “Yes?”

“Thank you for the invitation,” he said. “It was… fun.”

To his mild relief, a smile lit her face once more. “Really? You actually had fun?”

He nodded. “The ramyeon was not the only pleasant part of the experience.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she let out a little laugh. “Okay. Um, well, okay. Anytime. Yeah, let me know if… I mean, yeah. Anytime.” She disappeared into her office and closed the door. Less than five seconds later, he could hear the faint strains of her music floating through the door.

He lifted his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, then went into his office and took off his coat. But instead of sitting in his office chair and getting back to work, he sat on the couch.

 _Fenedhis,_ he was tired. This was why he didn’t eat big lunches. He would just sit here for a moment until his energy returned. 

He leaned his head back and folded his arms. Through the wall, he could hear the soft but peppy beat of Athera’s dance music. 

He sighed. _Very annoying,_ he thought. He should put in his earplugs. He’d go and get them from his desk drawer in just a minute. 

A few seconds later, with the gentle happy melody of Athera’s music in his ears, Abelas fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: [binge-watches Korean dramas, gets sad that there’s no canon equivalent to any of the Asian countries in Thedas]  
> Also me: THEY WILL EAT RAMYEON IN MODERN AU BECAUSE I SAID SO
> 
> Elvhen terms that weren’t translated in-fic: _lanastem_ = you are forgiven. 
> 
> Next chapter: Felassan! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your wondeful artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	11. Serendipitous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters this week are a little shorter, but on the plus side, there will be three of them! 
> 
> For Felassan: some song inspo because I just love him a whole heck of a lot. His theme is [“Love You Madly” by Cake.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2uwjsG0cRf0)

###  FELASSAN 

Felassan yawned and leaned his elbow on the counter of the coffee bar. When the barista finally handed over his afternoon espresso, he smiled faintly and took a grateful sip.

“Hi, Felassan!” 

He looked up. The greeting was from one of the students in his first-year class – one who clearly had a crush on him.

He smiled and nodded politely, then made his way to the exit of the art building without engaging her any further. It wasn’t unusual for students to flirt with him, especially the silly first-years, but Felassan never flirted back. Sure, he liked a little bit of trouble — more than a little, depending on who you asked — but he wasn’t stupid.

Besides, he wasn’t interested in dating a student, especially not a fine-arts student, even if the student wasn’t his. He wasn’t interested in the trappings of academia point-blank. If it wasn’t for the classes that he taught for Solas and Abelas, he would have completely left this world and its pretentions behind. In any case, his avoidance of academia automatically meant dismissing any students as potential romantic partners. 

Fortunately, the woman he was interested in wasn’t a student. 

Unfortunately, she wasn’t answering his texts. 

He smirked as he made his way to the history building. Tamaris, Tamaris… She was a tricky one to figure out. She was cynical, for certain; that was the first thing anyone would notice as soon as she opened her mouth. She wasn’t necessarily pleasant to talk to, either: she was blunt, suspicious, and intolerant of bullshit, calling Felassan out on his charm in her straight-shooting way. 

He liked it. Her bluntness was perversely charming, in his opinion. It was refreshing and different, especially for a man who was long accustomed to winning people over in the course of a single conversation. 

Her cynicism, though: that was the thing that really made him curious. From a cursory conversation with Tamaris, one might assume that she was a misanthropist. But over the course of the evening they’d spent together, Felassan had become convinced that her skepticism was a hardened mask that she’d purposely built up over time, but that she wished she could set aside.

And when she did set aside that skeptical mask, she was breathtaking. 

She was warm and sympathetic, insightful, funny and sharp in a way that led to the kind of witty banter that Felassan enormously enjoyed. She was quick to smile and quick to laugh, and he counted himself lucky that he’d had the pleasure of witnessing a smile on her pretty face.

Not that she needed to smile to be pretty. And not that ‘pretty’ was a sufficient word for her. She was… ah, maybe he was being dramatic, but in his eyes, she was exquisite. Those wild raven curls that slipped so smoothly through his fingers, the catlike tilt of her forest-green eyes, the pout of her unsmiling lips, the warm golden curve of her spine and the dusky pearls of her nipples budding against his palms… She was exquisite. Her tongue tasted exquisite, and her embrium-scented hair smelled exquisite, and the heated promise of her bare skin beneath his palms had been exquisite too.

And then she’d fled his apartment suddenly, and he hadn’t been able to find his wits fast enough to convince her to stay. 

Even her sudden departure didn’t put him off, however. If anything, it only made him more interested. On the first night they’d met, she would have fucked him without any qualms. But that second night, after spending hours talking and laughing and picking on each other with the comfort of old friends, she’d run off right at the moment that things were starting to shift toward sex. 

She wanted to box him out just as badly as she wanted to let him in; that much was clear. What Felassan didn’t know yet was _why_. 

He could wait, though. He was happy to wait until she revealed her stories. He could tell that she was a woman who had walked through fire, and if she was still tending her burns, he would need to be patient.

And being patient was something that Felassan was very good at. 

To that end, he was still hoping that she would reply to one of his texts — texts that he had sent sparingly, knowing that a barrage of texts would look stalkerish rather than suave. But as the week had gone on, he started to wonder if there might be another way to get in contact with her that wouldn’t make him look like a creep.

Of course, there was always the very real possibility that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore, and he was wasting his time and mental energy by thinking about her. But for now, with the memory of Tamaris’s cynicism and her smiles at the forefront of his mind, Felassan was content to bide his time.

Just then, his pocket vibrated with a text. 

His heart did a little hop, but he forced himself not to get overexcited as he checked his phone. Sure enough, the text was not from Tamaris, but from Solas.

_Solas 16:13_  
_I hear you have changed the final assignment for Drawing 100._

He huffed in amusement before typing out a reply.

_Felassan 16:13_  
_Is this the hot gossip in the lab today? I’m flattered._

_Solas 16:13_  
_Very funny. I trust that you have a good reason for making such a significant change._

_Felassan 16:13_  
_I have reasons for everything I do._

_Solas 16:14_  
_A good reason, Felassan._

_Felassan 16:14_  
_It’s a good reason. It’ll be a better cumulative assessment of their skills. Don’t worry your shiny head about it._

_Solas 16:14_  
_You know I never worry._

This was true; in all the years he had known Solas, he’d never seen his former supervisor to get perturbed about anything, not even when he’d had to bail Felassan out of jail back in Arlathan.

 _Ah, the indignities of youth,_ Felassan thought ruefully. He nibbled the inside of his cheek for a moment, then quickly sent off another message.

_Felassan 16:14_  
_I don’t suppose Abelas actually showed you the new assignment description?_

_Solas 16:14_  
_That isn’t necessary. Truthfully, I messaged you more out of a wish to placate him. I trust that your changes are in the students’ best interests._

Felassan’s shoulders loosened slightly. As much as he poked fun at Solas, he wasn’t keen to incur the coldness of Solas’s wrath. The six or seven months that Solas had spent shutting him out after he’d finished his PhD had been unpleasant enough.

_Felassan 16:15_  


_Solas 16:15_  
_Ha. I believe the students would say ‘lol’?_

_Felassan 16:15_  
_LOL indeed. You’re such an old man._

Solas didn’t reply. Felassan snickered as he slid his phone back into his pocket. He could easily imagine Solas huffing and purposely setting his phone aside instead of responding.

He continued on his leisurely way to the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab. Dagna was in the main room when he arrived, and her attention was entirely captured by a set of archeological tools and a bunch of books and printed articles strewn across the table in front of her. She was muttering to herself with her earphones on: signs that she was so engrossed that she wouldn’t even notice his presence. 

Felassan understood that kind of focus. He sidled into the room without bothering her and went to put away the laptop he’d borrowed for inputting marks during his class. Just as he was opening the cupboard, Athera came out of her office with her coat on. 

She smiled at Felassan as she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Hey, Felassan! Are you–”

He held a finger to his lips to hush her, and her eyes widened. 

She hurried over to him. “What?” she whispered. “What’s wrong? If you’re worried about disturbing Dagna, don’t worry about that, she won’t hear a thing unless the roof collapses on her–”

“No, not Dagna,” he said quietly. “Is Abelas still here?”

She smiled. “Is the sky blue?”

Felassan chuckled. “Then pretend I’m not here. I need to run before he catches me and tries to skin me for changing an assignment for Drawing 100.”

Athera’s eyes widened. “You changed something without telling him first? Oh shoot. I don’t want to be here either, then.”

“You’re a wise woman,” he said. He pulled the laptop and its cord out of his messenger bag. “Heading home for the night?”

“Yep,” she said. “And you?”

“Yes.”

“I think we’re both going in the same direction,” she said. “You live to the east of campus, right?”

“That’s right,” he said as he replaced the laptop in the cupboard. 

“Would you like a walking buddy? You can say no if you’d rather walk alone,” she added quickly. “I know some people like to wind down on their own at the end of the day.”

He shook his head. “We can walk together. You’ll have to fill me in on your adventures with Abelas over the past week.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Adventures? What do you mean?”

 _What do you think I mean?_ he thought with interest. He played innocent and raised his eyebrows. “I mean how many times you’ve had to redo the same mundane tasks the way _he_ wants them done.” 

“Oh,” she said. She let out a little laugh. “Not as many as you’d think, honestly. I’ve, um, been pushing back when he tries to insist on certain things.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’ve been pushing back? Well, well. That’s something I’d pay to see.”

She pulled a little face and ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, it’s not… I mean, he’s not – I feel kind of bad.” She lowered her voice. “I was talking about him to Nare and Tamaris, and I—”

Felassan’s heart seized. “Tamaris?” he blurted.

Athera blinked. “Yes. Have I not mentioned her before? She’s me and Nare’s other roommate.”

“She’s your…” He trailed off incredulously. Could his life really be so serendipitous? 

He regrouped. “You have a roommate named Tamaris?” he asked. He supposed it could be a different Tamaris, but it wasn’t exactly a common name, even back in Arlathan. 

Athera’s face creased with confusion. “Yes. Why? Do you know her…?” She trailed off, and Felassan watched with growing delight as her eyes went huge. 

“Are you the guy she met up with a week ago?” she said excitedly.

He smiled. His stunned feeling of disbelief was melting into a feeling of good fortune. “That depends,” he said. “Is your Tamaris a beautiful tattoo artist with curly black hair and vallaslin around her left eye that she did herself?”

“Yes!” Athera squealed.

Felassan quickly put his finger to his lips again, and Athera winced and glanced at Abelas’s office door before turning back to him. “Oh Creators, oh gods, you’re the — you’re the mystery guy she met last week!” she whispered.

Felassan chuckled. “So I’m the only man she met last week, then? That’s reassuring.”

She _tsk_ ed. “It shouldn’t be.” To his surprise, she leaned away and narrowed her eyes at him. “What did you do?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Did you say or do something jerk-ish?” she demanded. She folded her arms. “You’d better not have been a jerk to my friend.”

Amused, he leaned against the open cupboard door. “Or else what?”

“Or I’ll go straight to Abelas’s office and tell him you’re here,” she retorted.

He pulled a face. “That’s quite the threat, actually. What makes you think I behaved like a jerk?”

“Tamaris has been extra grumpy all week since she saw you,” Athera said accusingly. “And she didn’t tell us any—” She broke off suddenly and pressed her lips together, then frowned at him. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, go on,” he said keenly. “Don’t stop there. What didn’t she tell you?”

Athera pursed her lips primly and lifted her chin. “I’m not telling you anything else, especially not if you were an ass to her. Look, I’m going to go–”

“Athera, wait,” he said hastily. This was the chance he’d been hoping for. And truly, this was a very lucky chance. Who could have predicted that the woman he’d been thinking about all week would be the roommate of his colleague?

She gave him an expectant look, and he humbly tucked his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t say or do anything untoward, I swear it. I can’t speak for Tamaris, but I had a great time talking to her that night.”

Her face slackened with surprise. “Talking?”

He grinned. “What did you think we were doing?”

She pursed her lips primly. “She was gone for like six hours. You’re telling me you spent that whole time talking?”

“The vast majority of it, yes.”

Her expression and posture were softening, which was interesting in its own right. Felassan tilted his head. “I take it that it is unusual for her to talk at length with the people she goes home with.”

Athera licked her lips nervously, then shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 _That confirms it,_ he thought triumphantly. Tamaris had clearly connected with him in a more intimate way than she did with the people she usually went home with. Combine this with the fact that she hadn’t told her friends about him… 

_Oh, my mysterious avise,_ Felassan thought fondly. She was was like a tantalizing locked door that he’d been longing to open all week, and Athera was the key. 

It was time for him to take a little risk. He gave Athera a frank look. “You’re loyal to your friend. I admire that loyalty. But tell me this: you know Tamaris far better than I do. Why do you think she has been particularly ornery this week? If I had acted like an ass, would the behaviour of some common asshole usually perturb her this much?” 

He was already fairly sure he knew the answer to his latter question. Tamaris didn’t suffer fools or assholes, and Felassan was certain that if ever she was faced with such a man, she would lambaste him with her gloriously blunt tongue before walking away and forgetting about him entirely. 

Athera seemed to agree; her expression was growing more uncertain and thoughtful. Felassan pressed his advantage. “Now, you don’t know me. I am practically a stranger. But if I can be so bold, I would ask of you just a tiny favour.”

“What kind of favour?” she said suspiciously.

“A delivery,” he replied.

“What kind of delivery?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil. He tore out a piece of paper and thought for a moment, then scribbled a message on the paper and folded it in four. On the front of the folded paper he wrote one word: _Avise_.

 _Tongue of flame,_ he thought. If he was very fortunate, perhaps that fiery tongue of hers would soon be burning him again with her witty words and her scorching sexual heat. 

He held out the paper to Athera. “Would you give this to her? That is all I ask.”

She tentatively took the paper and glanced at it, then lifted her eyes to his face once more. “‘Tongue of fire’?”

He nodded. “She’ll understand.”

Athera’s expression softened, and Felassan knew he’d gotten her. Sure enough, she sighed. “Okay. Fine,” she said, and she carefully tucked the note in the pocket of her coat. Then she scowled at him. “But if you wrote something rude in this note, I’ll change the locks on the lab door and tell Abelas that you did it.”

He widened his eyes comically. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test me, mister,” she said threateningly. 

He chuckled, then bowed his head to her. “Thank you, Athera,” he said more seriously. “I am truly in your debt.”

She shrugged. “That’s okay.”

Feeling very cheerful now, Felassan went back to his neglected task of putting the laptop away. Once the cupboard was locked, he turned around to find Athera still standing there.

She was frowning pensively at him. He raised his eyebrows. “Is there something else?”

She studied him for a second longer, then shrugged again. “Let’s walk home together.”

“Are you sure?” he said with a smirk. “You don’t think I’m a serial killer who’s targeting your friend?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, I _wasn’t_ thinking that, but now that you mention it…”

He snickered, then bowed mockingly to her. “I would be honoured to walk in the same direction as you.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “Okay. But we’re _not_ talking about Tamaris.”

“I wouldn’t even ask. I am a gentleman, you know.” He winked at her. “You can tell Tamaris that.”

She scoffed, then shot him an appraising look. “You really do want to get on her good side, don’t you?”

“I don’t think she has any other side,” he said truthfully.

Her face softened again in a way that could only be described as a swoon. On the other side of the room, Dagna suddenly gasped and clapped her hands. “That’s it! By the ancestors, that’s—” She looked up, and her mouth fell into a comical ‘o’ of surprise. “Felassan! Athera! What are you guys doing there?”

Felassan grinned at Athera, and she burst into laughter. Then he heard the sound of a door opening at the end of the western hallway — the end where Abelas’s office was. 

“Go,” he hissed, and he tapped Athera’s shoulder urgently. “Go, run, he’s coming out!” 

She squeaked and ran for the door of the lab with Felassan at her heels. Together they bolted toward the exit of the history building, and they didn’t stop until they were outside. 

Athera gasped in a breath of air, then burst out laughing again. “That was — Creators, why did we—” She dragged in another breath, then sat down on the step and kept on laughing. “Why did we run? It’s not like he’s going to chase us.”

Felassan grinned and leaned against the bannister. “I wouldn’t put it past him to hunt us down. He was in the military, you know.”

“I did know that, actually,” she said. “He told me.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “He told you that?”

“Yes, when we went for lunch today.”

“When you went for…” Felassan trailed off in genuine surprise. He stared at her for a moment. “He went for lunch with you?”

“Yes,” she said. She pulled a little face and tugged her ear. “Well, I — I kind of strong-armed him into it.”

Felassan held up a hand. “I’m sorry, just — let me confirm this: Abelas left this building at the hour of lunch and went to get food with you?”

She eyed him apprehensively. “Is it really that weird?”

He gave her a significant look. “The only time he takes a break for lunch is for lunchtime meetings. Or if he’s at a conference and there’s no choice but to take a break.”

She shrugged sheepishly; her cheeks were turning tellingly pink once more. “I mean, I don’t know what to tell you. I did kind of bully him into coming out with me.”

Felassan snorted. “ _You_ bullied him? You’re a foot shorter than him and about half his weight.”

She smiled, then playfully flexed her bicep. “I’m small but mighty.”

He huffed in amusement, then gestured for her to stand. “All right, mighty one, tell me how exactly you bullied him into going for lunch with you.”

She fell into step beside him as they made their way in the direction of their respective homes. “Okay, well, so what happened is that he sent me this annoying email, and it was right before lunch and I was hangry—”

Felassan snorted a laugh, and Athera defensively hunched her shoulders. “Look, it wasn’t my finest moment, okay? I really should have just gone for lunch, but I confronted him about the email instead, and we kind of — well, we didn’t get into a fight, but we had a disagreement, and I… I guess…” She trailed off and thoughtfully twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I guess I kind of… won the disagreement?”

He looked at her. “You won the disagreement? What do you mean by that?”

“He admitted that I was right about something and he backed down,” she said.

Felassan smiled; he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t remember the last time Abelas had backed down for anyone except Solas. “I see,” he said.

Her cheeks were pinkening once more. “Yeah. Um. Yeah, so… so I asked him to join me for lunch, and he was like ‘why’, and I said ‘for fun’, and he looked at me like I had offered to kill his puppy, so I said it was a collegial lunch, and he said yes.” She shrugged. “And then we went for ramyeon.”

“Ramyeon?” Felassan said.

She nodded. “Yes, you know, Hercinian noodle—”

“I know what ramyeon is, it’s delicious,” Felassan said distractedly. He eyed her with growing disbelief. “He didn’t eat any, though.”

“He did,” she said.

Felassan gaped at her. “Abelas actually ate ramyeon?”

“Yes,” she said, a little more insistently. “He said he liked it. I think it’s kind of sad that he’s never had it before.”

“Not for a lack of trying,” Felassan said. “Solas and I used to invite him for ramyeon once or twice a month when we first moved here.”

Her eyes widened. “You don’t invite him anymore?”

“ _I_ don’t,” he said. “Solas still invites him out sometimes, but we both know he’ll just say no.”

Athera gave him an accusatory look. “Maybe you aren’t asking the right way.”

Felassan grinned. “Are you feeling sorry for him?”

She shrugged. “Maybe a little. It must be lonely sitting in his office all the time with no one to eat lunch with.”

He eyed her shrewdly, then decided to test the waters more directly. “Or maybe Solas and I are just not his type.”

“His type?” she said. “What do you…” She trailed off, and Felassan recognized the instant that the other shoe dropped: her cheeks turned bright red. 

He forced himself not to laugh at her obvious reaction. Meanwhile, Athera was sputtering. “I’m not — he’s — I’m not his type! He doesn’t even like me!”

He shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “He went for lunch with you. And he _ate_. He doesn’t usually eat a real lunch, you know. It makes him—”

“Sluggish, I know,” she said — with a tiny smile that Felassan shrewdly took a mental note of.

He lifted one eyebrow. “He spoke to you quite a bit, didn’t he? What else did he tell you?”

She gave him an affronted look. “You’re nosy!”

“And _you’re_ transparent,” he retorted.

Her jaw dropped. “Transparent! Wha— I’m not transparent!”

“You’re blushing,” he said matter-of-factly.

She covered her rosy cheeks and glared at him. “It’s not my fault! I blush easily! Especially when I’m thinking about — uh, n-never mind.”

Highly amused, he grinned at her. “Go on. When you’re thinking about what, exactly?”

She shot him a dirty look despite her still-red cheeks. “When I’m thinking about someone handsome, okay?” she said. She lifted her chin belligerently. “Look, I’ll admit it. I think Abelas is good-looking. But that doesn’t mean I like him or that he likes me. We just work together and we had lunch one time. That’s all.”

He raised his hands innocently. “As you say. I’m just a humble bystander.”

“You are not,” she muttered. “You’re meddling.”

“I would never dare,” he said. “I deny any involvement in the meddlesome thoughts you might be having.”

She scoffed and flicked his elbow. “You’re so annoying!”

He made a mock sad-face. “Now you’re starting to sound like Abelas.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. They continued to pick on each other and chat as they made their way along the street, and by the time they stopped in front of the two-storey row house where Athera lived, Felassan was more convinced than ever that Athera and Abelas would make an excellent match. In a complementary, sweet-and-sour sort of way. 

He’d keep that opinion to himself, though. His teasing had likely done enough to germinate the seed of interest that was already in Athera’s mind. 

He bowed his head to her. “Well, Athera, thank you for the entertaining walk.”

She smiled. “Thank _you_ for the recommendation for that bakery. I’ll take the girls sometime this week and we’ll check it out.”

“Be sure that you do,” he said. “The amandine croissants will truly elevate you to a higher plane of existence.”

She chuckled. Then she tilted her head. “Do you know what Abelas’s favourite baked good is?”

Felassan carefully stopped himself from smirking. “He’s fond of Orlesian petit fours,” he told her. “But there is a similar sweet in Arlathan that has a more palatable icing than Orlesian fondant. I can send you a recipe if you like.”

She perked up. “That would be great! Thanks!”

“Anytime,” he said. “Just make sure you get that note to Tamaris for me.”

“I will,” she assured him. Then she cocked her head playfully. “Tell me the truth. Is it a love note?”

“It is the most loving note that Thedas has ever seen,” Felassan said grandly.

Athera burst into giggles. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you you’re full of the s-word.”

He grinned. “Oh, she did. Many times.”

Athera laughed some more, then waved a cheerful goodbye. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you later.”

He nodded in farewell, then turned away and continued to mosey down the street. But instead of going home, he made his way to the Neighbour’s House, where he and Tamaris had met for drinks last week. 

He slipped inside and saluted Krem before making his way to the back of the bar. He slid into one of the smaller booths for two people and pulled his tablet out of his messenger bag, and a few minutes later, he had a drink on the way thanks to Krem and the first loose lines of a creature design coming to life on the screen of his tablet. 

He would bide his time here until Tamaris showed up — _if_ she showed up, that was. Felassan knew there was still a chance that she would ghost him, and if she didn’t respond to his note, that was the end of this; he wouldn’t bother her any further. 

But he was feeling confident. Cocky, even, as Tamaris would say. He had high hopes that this approach would finally elicit a response from her, and a response was what he needed to move through this stalemate one way or another. 

He smirked to himself as he continued to sketch on his tablet. He should have known to wait for a chance like this to arise. Being direct and to-the-point was all well and good, but subtle sideways approaches had always served him better than bulling in headfirst. This serendipitous discovery that Tamaris and Athera were roommates seemed to be yet another reminder that the roundabout method was often the best one. For Felassan, at any rate.

 _Stick to the Vir’Felassan: the Way of the Slow Arrow,_ he thought in amusement. 

Krem placed his drink on the table. “Here you go, boss.”

Felassan smiled at Krem. “Thank you, my friend.” He took a sip of his favourite (and admittedly terrible) drink — Oghren’s Special Brew, which Tamaris had so disdained tasting on his tongue.

If Felassan had played his cards right, she’d be tasting his tongue again, and soon. All he could do now was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Solas! And some SUPER CUTE ART! And... smut. 😍
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your divine artiste and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)


	12. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this SWEET SWEET ADORABLE ART of Solas and Fenor!!!! Perfectly sweet art to go with some spicy written content. 😉 To that end: smut.

###  SOLAS 

Solas sat down at his drawing table with a sigh. In truth, he was exhausted and not particularly in the mood to draw, but he hadn’t been able to take the after-work nap he so desperately needed. He’d lain on the couch for about twenty minutes trying to get some rest, but the much-desired sleep he longed for had eluded him, and he’d eventually grown so frustrated that he’d given up.

Truthfully, he had no one to blame but himself for his exhaustion. He’d been sleeping poorly for the past week, too preoccupied by his own traitorous and overactive libido, and the one thing that would alleviate his frustration was the one thing he didn’t dare to do.

He couldn’t masturbate. If he did, he would think about Nare, and thinking about Nare was a dangerously slippery slope. If he allowed Nare to infiltrate the privacy of his fantasies while he was stroking himself, then what else would he allow? Would he allow himself to sit beside her on the couch in his office? Would he allow his hand to rest on her knee? Would he allow himself to shift closer to her, to slide his palm up along her thigh, to lean in toward her and whisper soft and coaxing words of lust against the trembling pulse at her throat?

His cock pulsed in his loose linen pants. Aggravated at himself, he rubbed his face roughly with both hands. 

“Stop this,” he muttered. “You must stop this now.” He leaned his elbows on the drawing table and stared blankly at its surface for a moment, then stood up abruptly and started gathering his drawing tools.

He selected some cardstock, a few pencils, and a fine scalpel for honing the pencils to a perfect point. He didn’t bother with taking out any erasers tonight; he wouldn’t be sketching anything serious, just allowing his hand to flow with whatever emerged from his free-floating consciousness, so there would be nothing that required erasing.

He sat in his chair once more and angled his lamp to cast a warm wash of light over his desk. He picked up a pencil and carefully started sharpening it with the scalpel, but his focus was interrupted by a soft mew.

He smiled down at Fenor, who was sitting by his bare feet. “No, _vherlin,_ ” he said softly. “You’ve already eaten.”

She meowed again, more insistently this time, and Solas chuckled. “All right then, come.” He patted his thigh. 

Fenor wiggled her haunches before hopping lightly onto his lap, and Solas smiled to himself as she settled herself on his lap. He turned back to face his desk, then finished sharpening his pencil while listening to the soothing rumble of Fenor’s soft purr. 

He rested his hand over a piece of cardstock, then took a deep breath and allowed his mind to drift. Despite his frustration, it wasn’t difficult to sink into the right frame of mind for some unstructured sketching; he was already tired, his mind lacking focus due to his lack of sleep, and after a few moments of quiet breathing, he began to move his hand.

Light, loose strokes of graphite appeared on the cardstock. Solas idly watched as the thoughts and images in his mind took shape on the page. The lines and shapes gradually grew clearer and more focused, revealing the rough outline of a pair of hands. 

He paused for a moment and studied what he’d begun to draw. The longer he gazed at the rough but delicate lines, the more he could feel a pit of longing yawning wide in the depths of his gut. 

The hand on the right was a woman’s hand. It was palm-up as though in supplication, with the wrist vulnerably exposed. The other hand was masculine in shape, palm-down, the fingers reaching with a delicate sort of eagerness for the first hand. 

_Damn it,_ he thought morosely. He stared wistfully at the hands, then sharpened his pencil once more and began refining the anatomy of the woman’s hand. 

His phone buzzed with a text. Solas jolted, startled by the unexpected vibration in his pocket, and Fenor jumped off of his lap. 

He shot the cat an apologetic look as he took out his phone. When he saw the name of the sender, his heart stopped. 

It was from Nare. Nare had sent him a text. 

He stared at her name on his lock screen. Why was she texting him? He’d told her to only text him for supervisory reasons, so that was likely what this was. 

But what if it wasn’t? What if she was texting him about other things?

And why was he hoping that she would text him about other things?

 _Because I am maddeningly frustrated,_ he thought irately. He closed his eyes for a moment and took another deep breath to calm his thrumming heart, then swiped open his texts.

_Nare 17:43_  
_Is this a typo?_

_Nare 17:43_  
[img1789.jpg] 

She had sent him a screenshot of an article he had assigned to her seminar class for reading. On the screenshot, she had added a highlight of a mistake she’d found.

Solas smiled faintly, pleased with her for finding a legitimate reason to text him as well as for her sharp and critical eye. He typed out a reply.

_Solas 17:43_  
_You have a keen eye. I have already emailed the editor with a suggested correction._

_Nare 17:43_  
_Oh good! I’m glad I’m not going nuts!_

He wistfully brushed his thumb over her typed words. As pleased as he was that she’d contacted him, he knew that this was as far as this contact should go.

He began typing out a final ‘you’re welcome’, but before he could finish, the ellipsis of Nare’s incoming response appeared.

_Nare 17:43_  
_Thank you for answering. I hope I’m not bothering you_

Solas hesitated, then deleted his reply and wrote a new one instead.

_Solas 17:43_  
_It is no bother. I was simply doing some sketching._

_Nare 17:43_  
_Oh no I’m sorry! Did I interrupt your flow_

He smiled. It was the sort of considerate question that only another creative person would think to ask.

_Solas 17:43_  
_Not at all. My flow is not particularly smooth tonight, unfortunately. I am a bit too fatigued._

He sent the text, then immediately regretted it. There was no reason for him to tell her he was fatigued. It had nothing to do with his supervision of her. He must be more tired than he thought.

Nevertheless, when Nare’s reply appeared a mere second later, he eagerly looked at the screen.

_Nare 17:44_  
_Not getting enough sleep?_

_Not with you on my mind,_ he thought. But he obviously did not write this.

_Solas 17:44_  
_No, unfortunately. I have been averaging only 6 hours or so for the past few nights._

_Nare 17:44_  
_6 isn’t so bad! How much sleep do you usually aim for?_

_Solas 17:44_  
_9 hours, ideally. Though I will settle for 8._

_Nare 17:44_  
_9 hours! That’s so much!_

_Solas 17:44_  
_Consider it as multitasking. I derive a great deal of inspiration from dreams._

_Nare 17:44_  
_What kind of inspiration?_

He ruefully shook his head. Nare and her questions… Even in the plain and unadorned format of a text, he could hear her avid curiosity and see the wide and wondering shape of her oceanic eyes, and he was powerless to do anything but answer her question.

_Solas 17:44_  
_My work contains considerable symbolism, as you know. The symbolism derives largely from scenarios I see in dreams as well as from Arlathani culture._

_Nare 17:44_  
_Wow. I had no idea_

_Nare 17:44_  
_I hope that doesn’t sound sarcastic, I really mean it_

_Nare 17:44_  
_That’s really intriguing!_

_Solas 17:44_  
_It is interesting that you think so._

_Nare 17:44_  
_Why?_

_Solas 17:45_  
_My detractors have tried to criticize my historical treatises and theories by calling me a fortune-telling fantasist._

_Nare 17:45_  
_They’re just jealous_

He snorted in amusement. Her response had come so quickly — barely two seconds after his text. He could practically hear the disdain in her voice.

He began typing out a clever response about his critics being jealous because they knew he was correct, but before he could finish, another text from Nare appeared.

_Nare 17:45_  
_Not that I blame them. They have a lot to be jealous of_

He deleted his response and typed a new one.

_Solas 17:45_  
_What do you mean?_

_Nare 17:45_  
_They’re up against a rival who’s both intelligent and handsome_

Handsome. Nare had called him handsome.

This was the first time she had overtly complimented his looks. 

A rush of heat pooled in his belly as he stared at the words on his screen. This was confirmation, then: unequivocal confirmation that he was as attractive to her as she was to him. Despite the fact that he was at least ten years her senior, she still found him to be handsome. 

At the back of his mind, a satisfied sort of pride reared its head. The longer he gazed at Nare’s bold and flirtatious words, the more energized he felt, almost as though that strange sense of pride was unfurling through his body, joining with the simmer of lust that never seemed to be more than a thought away where Nare was concerned. 

_Don’t encourage this,_ he pleaded with himself. _It will bring only trouble._ But it seemed that his pride had taken over his mind and his thumbs.

_Solas 17:46_  
_There are many academics who are both intelligent and attractive._

_Solas 17:46_  
_Yourself, for instance._

_Nare 17:46_  
_You’re a sweet talker, professor_

_Solas 17:46_  
_An inaccurate statement, I’m afraid. We are not talking._

There was a long pause before she replied — only about thirty seconds counting by the beat of his heart, but it might as well have been a lifetime.

_Nare 17:46_  
_Would you like to?_

His heart lodged itself into his throat. Would he like to talk to her?

 _Yes,_ hissed the restless part of his mind. _Yes, call her. Whisper torrid things in her ear until she is begging you to do them to her._

For a long moment, Solas sat there with his phone in his hands and body practically aching with desire. Then, with an immense effort, he forced himself to put his phone down on the drawing table.

He rested his palms on his knees and took another deep breath. He had to curtail this discussion now. If he didn’t, his uncooperative cock would steal the remaining blood from his brain and prevent him from remembering the very real reasons that this conversation was untenable.

He picked up his phone.

_Solas 17:47_  
_I’m not sure that this is the time to be discussing academic topics._

_Nare 17:47_  
_That’s not exactly what I had in mind_

A fresh rush of lust surged through his blood. The innuendo in her text was heavy enough to crush him if he allowed it.

He replied anyway.

_Solas 17:47_  
_What did you have in mind?_

_Nare 17:47_  
_A bedtime story?_

Despite himself, he barked out a laugh.

_Solas 17:47_  
_A bedtime story! You are young, but not that young. No offense intended._

_Nare 17:47_  
_None taken_ 😉

_Nare 17:47_  
_And you’re right, I’m not really that young compared to other people doing their Master’s_

_How old are you?_ he wondered, but he refused to ask. He couldn’t decide whether it would be better or worse if Nare was younger than he thought. If she was young enough to be his daughter, would that put him off, or would his lust remain unabated? On the other hand, if she was older than he thought, would he feel more justified in his desire for her – a false justification, given the nature of their relationship? Which option was worse? He truly couldn’t tell.

As he was mulling this over, another text appeared on his screen.

_Nare 17:47_  
_I’m 28, by the way. I know you wouldn’t ask_

He exhaled slowly. Twenty-eight. She was exactly within the narrow age range that he had guessed. This changed absolutely nothing about his feelings for her, unfortunately.

_Solas 17:47_  
_You did not need to tell me._

_Nare 17:47_  
_I wanted to. I want you to know me_

_Nare 17:47_  
_And I want to know you too_

He took another deep breath and released it slowly. To know Nare, to have her know him: this was exactly what he’d been thinking about earlier today. She was suggesting the exact thing that he had been fantasizing about ever since their meeting this morning. The conversation they’d had, that conversation about Nare’s suppressed sexuality and Solas’s latent wolf-like side — their hidden pieces and parts, the parts that each of them kept tucked away, and that Solas wanted so desperately for them to share…

 _Fenedhis,_ he wanted her. He wanted her with every inch of skin on his body, from the soles of his feet to the inside of his thighs to the palms of his hands and the back of his neck. He wanted her so badly that it hardly felt like just a _want_ anymore, but rather like a need. 

He closed his eyes to savour the pulsing in his blood and his belly and his cock. But when he opened his eyes, his gaze landed on his unfinished drawing. 

He gazed at the woman’s hand. The position of the fingers was open and earnest, and the exposed wrist with its delicate tendons was so vulnerable. It was an innocent hand, one that could bear no blame even if it was wide open and practically begging to be touched by the larger hand that was looming over it like a wolf waiting to pounce.

He slowly ran his palm over his scalp. Then, very reluctantly, he picked up his phone once more and typed out a stark response.

_Solas 17:49_  
_We will get to know each other in time. I am your supervisor, after all._

When her reply came a minute later, its neutrality landed in his belly with a cold thud.

_Nare 17:50_  
_I know. I’m really glad that you’re my supervisor_

_Solas 17:50_  
_As am I._

_Solas 17:50_  
_On that note, I should return to my sorely neglected drawing._

_Nare 17:50_  
_Okay. Goodnight, professor. I hope you feel inspired_ 😊

_Professor._ The word was ruined for him now. Every time he saw it, he could only imagine her murmuring it in her husky voice.

He shook his head wryly, then looked at his drawing. He gazed sadly at it for a moment before writing her one final and ill-advised text.

_Solas 17:51_  
_I do, Nare. More than you know._

She didn’t reply right away, and Solas’s frenzied lust continued to cool as the reality of their situation sank in. He finally set his phone down and picked up his pencil, but just as he was detailing the curves of the woman’s thumb, his phone vibrated with one last message from Nare.

_Nare 17:53_  
_xo_

He stared at the message. It was just two letters; just two individual solitary graphemes. But the impact it had on his body was like he’d been slammed in the chest by a fist formed of his own wicked desire.

He traced his thumb delicately over the tiny _xo_. The risk Nare was taking by sending him this… It was his fault, and he couldn’t encourage it. Truly, he ought to delete their entire exchange from his phone. The danger of keeping her messages on his phone was immense — not just to his career, but to hers as well. If their inappropriate contact was discovered, she would be left without a supervisor, and what if her reputation was so sullied that no other professors would take her on?

He should delete the texts. Delete the damning records of their conversation so there was no evidence of how brash and bold he had been. But as he gazed at the screen, his heart pounding with exhilaration and nerves and sheer undeniable lust, the words she’d sent him seemed to engrave themselves on the backs of his eyes.

_... intelligent and handsome…  
I want you to know me.  
You’re a sweet talker, professor.  
xo_

He gazed at her words, heated and bold and undeniable in her intent: she was trying to instigate something with him. Even knowing who he was, knowing that this was totally forbidden, knowing how dangerous this would be for both of them, still she had pursued this dangerous route of conversation. 

And damn him, but Solas wanted _more._

He stood up and crossed the room, then placed his phone on the table near the door. He returned to his seat and picked up his pencil, and he tried to force himself to draw. 

He breathed slowly and carefully as he lined the woman’s hand. Her thumbnail took shape, the delicate creases of skin at the joint of her thumb, a hint of fine crosshatch shading since that was what he was in the mood for—

He abruptly set the pencil down closed his eyes. He couldn’t fool himself any longer. He wasn’t in the mood to draw. He wasn't in the mood to be bound by the precise lines of his pencil or the necessary restrictions of anatomical realism. There was only one thing — one _person_ — that he was in the mood for, and the memory of her sweet and cheeky smile was torturing him from behind his closed eyelids.

He stood up and padded out of his studio, then made his way into the living room and stretched out on the couch. Recklessly, almost defiantly, he pulled up the hem of his t-shirt and shoved down the waistband of his pants. 

He was hard already, of course; he had been since the moment Nare’s name had appeared on the screen of his phone. Recklessly, roughly, he wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed. 

He dragged in a rasping breath. The pressure of his hand was an immediate relief — this pressure that he’d foolishly denied himself for an entire week in an attempt to diminish his terrible desires. But at this moment, with the memories of Nare’s gentle voice and her sweet smile and her delicate hands at the front of his mind, Solas no longer cared that his sordid thoughts were wrong.

At this moment, when it came to right or wrong, Solas didn’t give a fuck.

He flexed his hips and pumped his fist along his length, and he shamelessly thought of her. Nare, beautiful Nare, her long red hair spilling across his abs as she took him deep into her throat… the mere thought of it was enough to make him pulse against his own palm. She was so inquisitive and keen with her clever questions and her clever insights in his class, and as he stroked himself, he feverishly wondered if she would be just as keen in his bed. 

He was certain that she would be. If ever she was naked in his sights, he was certain she would she ask him questions — questions such as _will you touch me? Can you lick me? Please, professor, will you fuck me harder?_

He gasped helplessly and massaged the head of his cock. Yes, if Nare were ever to strip herself for him, he was sure that that was what she would say: she would plead with him to touch her, to stroke the heat between her legs and to press his lips into the slippery glory of her pussy. She would be eager and curious to learn just like she was in his class, and she would follow all of his careful instructions to bend over, to open her mouth, to take him deep into her throat… Yes, she would follow those instructions so perfectly while calling him _professor…_

He groaned fitfully, then reached over his shoulder and clenched his free hand in the arm of his couch. He restlessly pushed his pants down a little bit more, then spat into his palm and stroked himself again. 

“Ah…” The added smoothness of his saliva sent a rush of pleasure straight to his brain, and his own pleasured groan burst from his throat as though it had been waiting to emerge for weeks. Truly, he felt as though he hadn’t come for weeks; that was how desperate she made him. 

He stroked himself more quickly, rocking his hips helplessly up into his own hand, and it didn’t matter that he was likely going to make a mess of himself, or that Fenor was sitting on the armchair just a few meters away and judging him; he was so riled that it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, nothing but the heat of his hand and the rapidity of his breathing and the thoughts of Nare naked on her knees, naked and wet and waiting for him with only two words on her lips: _yes, professor…_

He burst out a breathy groan, and his release spurted hotly across his abs. Solas dug his nails into the couch and firmly pulled his palm along the length of his cock, and when the final blinding shudders of pleasure finally abated from his limbs, he opened his eyes. 

Some of his seed had spattered on his t-shirt. He sighed, then tilted his head back and stared vacantly at the ceiling for a moment. Now that he’d sated himself, his reckless sense of pride had gone dormant once more, and he was left with a vague feeling of emptiness and regret. 

The real problem was this: his regret was misplaced. He ought to be regretting the fantasies he bore for the _very_ forbidden fruit of his Master’s student. Instead, what he regretted was that this self-indulgent moment of pleasure only made him want her all the more. 

What he really regretted was that he couldn’t have the one person he wanted more than any woman he had ever laid eyes on his life. 

_Selfish,_ he thought. _Selfish, hot-blooded and impulsive._ He was acting like a man ten years his junior. No, that was unfair; even Felassan wouldn’t act with such foolish brashness, not even in the most troubled times of his youth. 

A strident meow drew Solas’s attention. He looked down to see Fenor sitting at the foot of the couch and gazing at him accusingly. 

He scoffed softly. “Go sit in the bedroom next time, if you are so offended,” he told her. He carefully stood up and went to the guest washroom to tidy himself up. 

A few minutes later, dressed in a fresh V-neck shirt, he returned to his studio to resume his drawing, but his eyes instantly fell on his phone.

He paused by the table, then picked up his phone. He slowly swiped into his messages, then reread his text conversation with Nare. 

_Fenedhis,_ this was… he should not have encouraged her. She had been inappropriately bold and complimentary, yes, but the responsibility for this conversation lay squarely with him. For her sake and his, he ought to delete the texts. 

For a long minute, he gazed at their texts, reading them over and over until he could recite her messages from memory. Then, somewhat belligerently, he closed his messaging app.

He ought to delete the texts, he knew. But something stopped him: that smug and lustful sense of pride. That proud and restless feeling that Nare had remarked on in his office, and which defined his mood now as he sat down at his drawing desk once more. 

Solas gazed at the half-formed pair of hands: one hand open and begging, the other one reaching down and eager to give. He idly brushed his thumb over the woman’s delicate half-lined thumb, then smiled to himself. 

Solas picked up his pencil, and with quick and confident strokes, he continued to line the drawing. He’d had a rocky start with this sketch, perhaps, but now that he had found his groove, he was quite enjoying the way it was turning out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys like Solas texting? SO DO WE, FAM. SO DO WE. 
> 
> Next chapter: Tamaris and Felassan! 
> 
> I am [your friendly neighbourhood Pika on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), and your flawless artist who blesses our eyeballs is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	13. Bitterness

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris was cleaning up after her last client of the day when she sensed a pair of eyes on the back of her neck.

She looked up to find Athera staring at her from the doorway. She raised an eyebrow and continued sterilizing the table. “What? What’s up?”

“I have something for you,” Athera said.

Tamaris looked up once more. Athera’s voice sounded calm, but her eyes were huge and excited, and she was practically vibrating. 

Tamaris gave her a funny look. “Something for me? Like a gift?”

“Not exactly,” she said.

“So what is it?” Tamaris said, slightly nonplussed now. “Did I get a package or something? I didn’t order anything.”

“No, no package,” Athera said. “It’s, um…” She bit her lips as though to hide a smile. “Are you almost finished there?”

Tamaris wilted slightly. Athera’s antics would usually amuse her, but her fuse had been particularly short this week. “Yeah, I’ll be done in a minute,” she said. “Can you make me some coffee?”

“Of course!” Athera hurried away to the kitchen, and Tamaris exhaled and finished up her cleaning routine a little more quickly.

She wandered into the kitchen to find Athera stirring sugar into her coffee. Athera handed her the cup, and she took a fortifying sip before raising her eyebrows. “Okay. What’s this mystery thing you have for me?”

Athera made a face that was somewhere between a smile and a nervous grimace, then took a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and held it out. 

Tamaris took it. “What’s…” She trailed off with a gut-punch of shock. 

_Avise_. She gaped at the paper for a second, then looked up at Athera. “Where — how the fuck—?” 

“Felassan works in my lab,” Athera blurted. 

“What?” Tamaris said blankly. “He — when did – how…?”

Athera did a little hop. “I know, I know, we were surprised too! He was putting away a laptop when I was getting ready to leave for the day and I mentioned you and he was all surprised, so–”

“Wait,” Tamaris interrupted. “He works in your lab? He — he works at the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab?”

“Yes!” she said brightly. “He teaches classes for Solas and Abelas.”

Tamaris didn’t reply. She didn’t know Felassan worked at the university. He hadn’t told her he worked at the university. All he’d mentioned was his concept art job. Why hadn’t he told her that he worked at U of O?

She scowled at the paper in her hand, then held it out to Athera. “What is this?”

Athera shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t read it.”

“He didn’t tell you what it says?” Tamaris demanded.

“He said—” She broke off with a giggle, then bit her lips and made an apologetic face. “I asked him if it was a love letter, and he said it was the most loving love letter in all of Thedas. Or something like that.”

Tamaris’s heart twisted. She scoffed. “He’s so fucking full of shit.”

“That’s what I said you would say!” Athera laughed, then cleared her throat when Tamaris didn’t smile. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s really a love letter. It only took him about ten seconds to write.”

Tamaris stared at the paper, feeling totally wrong-footed. She’d spent the better part of this week trying to forget about Felassan, ignoring his texts and distracting herself with TV or by coming up with tattoo designs for her online portfolio whenever her thoughts strayed to his cheeky fucking smile and his pretty amethyst eyes. And now, without warning, he’d inserted himself into her life. 

Without warning, here he was: a tangible piece of him in her hands. A piece of paper that his elegant hand had written on — that he’d written that fucking endearment on, to add insult to injury. 

“Well?” Athera said. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

Tamaris shot her a dirty look. “Are you going to keep staring at me until I do?”

“Probably,” Athera said. Her expression was oddly serious now. “I mean, I could pretend I don’t want to know what he wrote, and you definitely don’t have to tell me what it says, but I really think you should read it.”

“Why?” Tamaris said.

“Because…” Athera winced. “Look, no offense, but you’ve been kind of horrible all week, and I think he has something to do with it.”

Tamaris recoiled, scalded by her words. “If you think he has something to do with it, why are you taking his side?”

“I didn’t know there was something to take sides about,” Athera said carefully. “I thought he was just some guy you met last week and decided not to see again.”

Tamaris took a deep breath and rubbed the paper between her fingers. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling so angry about this, but she couldn’t seem to control her temper this week. She’d been feeling off-kilter, as though her internal equilibrium had been totally thrown off, and as much as she hated to admit it, Athera was right: she _was_ being horrible, and Felassan did have something to do with it. 

He had everything to do with it, really. Not that he’d done anything wrong, which only served to make Tamaris feel even more inexplicably angry. 

She glared at Athera. “This is none of your business.”

Athera sighed. “I’ve been getting that a lot today.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

Athera gave her a wheedling look. “I’ll tell you if you read that note.”

Tamaris sighed loudly. “For fuck’s fucking sake.”

At the end of the hall, Nare’s bedroom door opened. She poked her head out. “Is everything okay?”

Tamaris gave Athera a forbidding look, but Athera was annoyingly uncowed; she folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, and unfortunately, this was enough to draw Nare’s concern. 

She stepped out of her room and padded over to them. “What’s going on?” Her eyes fell on the piece of paper in Tamaris’s hand. “What’s that?"

Tamaris hid the paper behind her back, and Athera sighed. “Tam…”

“Leave me alone, okay?” she snapped. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s the problem,” Athera said. She gave her a pleading look. “Just talk to us, okay? Tell us what’s going on. You know we’re not going anywhere until you do. Right?” She looked askance at Nare, and her eyebrows rose. “Hey, are _you_ okay? You look a little flushed.”

Nare smiled. “I’m fine! I was just doing some yoga.”

Athera blinked. “In your bedroom?”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to disturb you guys,” she said. She looked at Tamaris. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Tamaris said defensively.

“Felassan is the guy that Tamaris met last week,” Athera said loudly.

Nare’s eyes went wide. “What? Seriously?”

Tamaris slumped in exasperation. “What the fuck, so _you_ know him too?”

“Yes, he teaches my art history seminar,” Nare said. “Is he really the guy you met last week?”

“Yes,” Tamaris grunted. “But he didn’t tell me that he was a teacher at U of O.”

“Why would he tell you?” Nare asked.

Tamaris gave her an arch look. “Are you saying you think it’s okay that he fucking lied to me?”

Nare’s expression grew cautious. “No. It’s just — well, you don’t usually bother to talk much with the guys you meet. Not judging at all, you know I’m not,” she added hurriedly. “But you said yourself that you can't be bothered getting to know them.”

Athera tapped Tamaris’s wrist. “Felassan said you talked for like six hours.”

Tamaris glared at her, but Nare jumped in. “You talked to him for six hours? Really?” She raised her eyebrows playfully. “And here I was thinking you were having marathon sex and keeping all the stories to yourself for some reason.”

Athera giggled. “Me too! I thought she was just holding out on us!”

Tamaris pursed her lips and didn’t reply. After a brief awkward pause, Nare spoke again. “So… so is that a letter from him, then?”

Tamaris scowled, but Athera replied. “Yes, it is. I ran into him at the lab at the end of the day and we just happened to find out that we have Tam in common. He asked me to give that to her.”

Nare smiled. “Aw, that’s cute! What does it say?”

“I don’t know, okay?” Tamaris snapped. “I haven’t read it.”

“Can I read it?” Nare asked teasingly.

Tamaris tucked the letter against her chest. “No!”

Nare chuckled. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Her smile faded. “Seriously though, what’s the problem? Did Felassan do something bad?”

“No,” Tamaris said. She gulped her coffee and burned the roof of her mouth, then set the coffee down on the counter and went to the cupboard. She got a glass and filled it with water and drank the whole thing in five gulps, and when she turned around, Nare and Athera were both looking at her. 

She sneered at them. “Take a fucking photo, it’ll last longer.”

Athera awkwardly tugged her ear, but Nare was unfazed. “What happened with Felassan last week?” she said evenly.

Tamaris swelled with anger, and Athera winced. “Tam, we’re only asking because—”

“Because you care, I know,” Tamaris burst out. “I know you’re being nosy fucks because you care, and I know I’m being a total bitch, but just — I didn’t ask for this, okay?” She gestured angrily with the folded paper in her hand. “I didn’t fucking ask for this. I didn’t want to–” She broke off before she could admit that her feelings for Felassan were more than basely sexual.

She took a deep breath to try and calm her rage. “You want to know what happened last week? We met up at the Neighbour’s House and talked, and he said he’d take me home and fuck me. But we ended up talking at his place and watching half of a movie instead. Then we started fooling around again, and I just — I didn’t want to fuck him anymore, so I came home. Okay?” She glared venomously at them. “That’s what happened. Happy now?”

Nare’s eyebrows were raised. “You didn’t want to have sex with him?”

“I did,” Tamaris gritted. “I — I wanted to fuck him. I just didn’t — I don’t want… the rest of it. I — it’s not fucking worth it.”

Athera’s face softened. “You like him, don’t you?”

A bubble of rage suddenly burst in her chest. “Just fucking drop it, okay?” she yelled. “I know you guys are just trying to be nice but I… I don’t want to do this again. You remember what happened with Perron. You were there!”

“We were,” Nare said softly. “But… Tam, I thought he didn’t matter to you anymore.” 

“He _doesn’t_ matter anymore,” she snapped. “It’s not about him.”

“Then what is it about?” Nare asked. 

Tamaris glared at them. At this moment, the sympathy in their faces was the last thing she wanted to see. 

She stepped back. “Forget it. I’m going to my room.” She picked up her coffee and stalked down the hall to her bedroom. She slammed the door and sank down onto the floor at the foot of her bed, then brought the coffee to her lips with a trembling hand.

The bitterness of her coffee spread across the surface of her tongue, and it was a fitting match for the bitterness that was pulsing through her chest. _It’s not worth it,_ she thought furiously. It was crazy to put yourself on the line and to give your time and emotional energy to another person. Sure, maybe they wouldn’t turn around and dump you at the moment when you really needed their support, but you couldn’t know that. You could never be sure that the person you loved wasn’t going to fuck you over at the moment when you needed them the most. 

_Fucking Perron,_ she thought furiously. She still couldn’t believe he’d broken up with her right when her brother Marin was in the middle of the worst psychotic episode he’d ever had. 

No, actually, she _could_ believe it. In retrospect, Tamaris should have known that Perron was a selfish shit who would leave her the second he sensed that her attention was divided. He’d always been so fucking needy with his art, always needing to be praised even when his stuff wasn’t that good, and she’d just chalked it up to him being insecure, as many young artists were. But when Marin started acting strange and Tamaris had to keep a closer eye on him, Perron had started complaining. _That_ was when Tamaris really should have known him for the asshole that he was.

She dragged a hand through her hair. Really, she was the one to blame for how things had fallen out. She should have kicked Perron to the curb way before he’d ever had the chance to dump her. But with Marin’s behaviour getting out of control and her parents being completely overwhelmed to the point of uselessness, Tamaris had been so desperate for some kind of anchor to a normal life.

She’d expected Perron to be that anchor. They’d been together for two fucking years, after all. But in the end, Perron had left. Even now, years after Marin was comfortably settled at the group home in Kirkwall, years after Tamaris had stopped giving a shit about Perron, the bitterness still lingered. 

Now, as she stared at the crumpled paper in her fist, she realized how badly that bitterness was poisoning her. After years of guarding herself, of purposely eschewing romantic ties in favour of easy casual sex, she’d finally met someone that she liked enough to consider actually dating. She’d met someone who was clever but kind, charming but genuine, handsome and smooth and a beautiful kisser, but also an unapologetic nerd when it came to his craft.

Now that Tamaris had met Felassan, she was realizing the ugly truth of just how thoroughly her own bitterness had sunk all the way into the core of her heart. 

A tear rolled down her face, and she hastily wiped it away before draining the last dregs of her coffee. It was too sweet, but she wasn’t surprised; that was what she got for asking Athera to make coffee for her. 

She set the cup down on the floor and closed her eyes, feeling totally exhausted by the past ten minutes. When she was finally feeling some semblance of calm, she unfolded the note from Felassan.

> Tamaris:
> 
> I can imagine your lovely scowl as you’re reading this. It would be my honour (and pleasure) to witness that lovely scowl again in person.
> 
> By the time you’re reading this, I’ll be at the Neighbour’s House having a drink. I’ll be here until Krem gets sick of me – in other words, until closing time. (He never gets sick of me. I am incredibly entertaining. And a very good tipper.)
> 
> I know what you’re thinking: I am full of shit. I dare you to say so to my face. 
> 
> Yours,  
>  Felassan

She snorted a little laugh. He was such a cheeky shit.

Another tear rolled down her face. She impatiently wiped it away, but the next thing she knew, she was sobbing.

She dropped the letter on the floor and crawled onto her bed, then curled up and buried her face in a pillow so Nare and Athera wouldn’t hear her. _Fucking Felassan,_ she thought furiously. Why did he have to come bursting into her life and messing up her routine? Sure, maybe her life was stale and unexciting, but it was _stable_. It was predictable. It wasn’t a constant fucking up-and-down of emotions, not like the years it had taken for Marin to even out.

But Felassan was ruining that. With two encounters, one Instagram conversation, a few clever texts and one hastily-scrawled note, Felassan was turning her stable routine and her emotional landscape upside down. He was making her into a fucking mess with his charm and his enthusiasm and his stupid banter and his stupid beautiful gemlike eyes, and Tamaris didn’t fucking want this.

Except that she did. She… fuck, she actually wanted him. Despite all the shit she’d gone through with Perron and the hard-earned lesson to cast aside love in favour of emotionless sex instead, her stupid heart wanted Felassan, and she was fucking terrified. 

She sobbed and clutched her pillow. She _hated_ feeling this way — this throbbing ache in her chest that was forcing its way through her throat in a helpless spill of tears. She hadn’t cried like this in years, having purposely avoided any situations that would lead to this kind of bullshit. And now, after one stunningly memorable date, she was a fucking mess. 

She would have to ignore his letter. That’s all there was to it. She would ignore his invitation just like she’d ignored his texts and her own invasive memories of his smile, and she’d go back to her nice boring stable life of doing tattoos and binge-watching TV and fucking random guys when she really got the urge.

 _But you don’t want to fuck random guys,_ a tiny masochistic voice said at the back of her mind. _You want Felassan._

She gripped her hair in her fists. When her hands started to hurt from the tension, she released her hair and rolled onto her back.

She stared up at the ceiling of her bedroom. Ghosting Felassan was the smart thing to do. She just needed a little more time to forget him, that was all. And she could start by deleting his texts from her phone.

She reached into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out her phone, then swiped into her texts.

_Felassan Wed Sept 2, 8:06a.m._  
_Good morning, avise. Want to meet for coffee?_  
_I’m kidding, of course. Text me if you’re up for drinks later._

_Felassan Fri Sept 4, 4:27p.m._  
_Please tell me you’ve seen the Dicknanigans skit by Key & Peele. It represents all of our favourite things about the fine art world. A link just in case:_  
_[Dicknanigans - Key & Peele](https://www.facebook.com/ComedyCentral/videos/1835765813192618/) _

_Felassan Sun Sept 6, 10:17p.m._  
_Surprise! I have written you a limerick._

_Felassan 10:17p.m._  
_There once was a girl named Tamaris_  
_She certainly wasn’t an heiress_  
_Her lips were so sweet_  
_I was knocked off my feet_  
_And nothing else rhymes with Tamaris_  


_Be gentle with me. I’m an artist, not a poet._

She stared at the texts with a writhing feeling in her gut. All she had to do was delete them. A quick swipe and tap of her thumb, and they’d be gone.

She exhaled slowly. _That skit was pretty perfect,_ she thought. And his limerick was fucking awful, but she’d still laughed when she read it. (Then she’d thrown her phone on her bed and gone to watch _The Archdemon Rises 4_ as a distraction, but still.) 

She gazed at the texts for a moment more, then dropped her phone on her bed. Ignoring Felassan would be the smart thing to do. It was the best way to keep herself feeling nice and even-keeled and numb. Yep, ignoring Felassan was definitely the best way to protect herself. Ignoring his terrible jokes and his clever quips and his beautiful mischievous smile was what a smart woman would do. 

For a long moment, she lay on her bed. Then she stood up and went to the washroom. She washed her face and redid her makeup and quickly fluffed her hair, then went back to her room and threw on some jeans and a clean t-shirt.

She shoved her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, then skulked down the hallway back to the main area of the apartment. Athera was cooking dinner in the kitchen and humming along to her music, and Nare was reading an article on her laptop in the living room.

They both looked up, and Tamaris hunched her shoulders. “I’m going to meet Felassan,” she muttered.

Athera did a little hop and clapped her hands, and Nare smiled. “Oh good!” she said. She tilted her head playfully. “So, was it a dirty letter, or…?”

Tamaris snorted. “Sure. Let’s say it was a fucking laundry list of all the filthy things he’s doing to do to me when I see him.”

Athera giggled, and Nare groaned. “Ugh, don’t talk to me about filthy things. I’m trying to focus.”

“You started it,” Tamaris said. She shoved her feet into her boots and pulled on her leather jacket.

Just before she left the apartment, she shot them both a sheepish look. “Sorry for being a bitch,” she mumbled.

Nare smiled, and Athera waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. We know you love us.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. See you later.” She left the apartment, and as she made her way down the stairs, she mentally berated herself for her stupidity. 

This was stupid. Going to see Felassan was a stupid idea, and she knew it. The best thing to do would be to cut him off completely. 

But for some dumb, naive, _idiotic_ reason, Tamaris didn’t want to cut her nascent connection with Felassan just yet. 

_I’ll just see what he wants,_ she told herself. _Then I’ll decide what to do next._ With this guarded plan in mind, she made her way to the Neighbour’s House.

###  FELASSAN 

Felassan finished lining the second set of horns on his creature design, then twirled his stylus idly while eyeing the whole sketch with a critical eye. He might make the first set of horns smaller when he modeled it later in Zbrush, but it was decent for now. Better than he’d expected to come up with on the fly while sitting in a bar.

 _I should work while drinking more often,_ he thought in amusement. He made a new layer, then started sketching out a rough background.

“Hey.” 

His heart did a little flip. He looked up from his tablet to find Tamaris standing there with her arms folded. 

She was frowning at him. She looked perfectly lovely. He leaned back with a grin. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

Her frown deepened. “What?”

He gestured at her t-shirt. “Showing up here with another man on your chest?”

She glanced down at her shirt. It featured a portrait of a popular side character from the _Blasto_ series, and under the portrait was a tagline: _Garrus Vakarian is my space boyfriend._

She lifted one eyebrow. “You get jealous of fictional characters?”

“All the time,” he said cheerfully. “Why do you think I spend all my time drawing monsters? I’m at least more attractive than them.”

She huffed. “I don’t know about that. Haven’t you heard of monster and alien kinks? It’s a thing. You should look it up sometime.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I will. The thought makes me both scared and horny.”

She snorted a laugh, then scowled as though she hadn’t meant to laugh.

 _Interesting,_ he thought. He gestured at the opposite bench of the booth. “Aren’t you going to sit?” 

She didn’t sit. “You didn’t tell me you work at the University of Orlais,” she said accusingly.

He scratched his chin. “I suppose I didn’t, did I?”

Her scowl deepened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t come up,” he said with a shrug. “We were talking about more interesting things.”

She gave him a deeply skeptical look. “So you didn’t tell me about your whole other second job because it just didn’t come up.”

“Exactly,” he said. He tilted his head quizzically. “Is that really why you’re angry?”

“I’m not—” She broke off and took a breath as though to calm herself.

“Come on, sit down,” he said soothingly. “Have a drink.”

She glared at him, then sat across from him in the booth. He waved to Krem, and once Tamaris had a drink on the way, Felassan raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

“What?” she said defensively.

“You tell me,” he said.

She clicked her tongue and folded her arms, and Felassan eyed her thoughtfully. He clearly wasn’t going to get anything out of her using this approach.

He abruptly changed his strategy. “How was your week?”

She gave him another scathingly skeptical look. “You really want to know how my week was?”

“I want to know anything you want to tell me,” he said. “But I can start with your week.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but didn’t speak, so he leaned back and draped his arm casually along the back of the booth. “My week was great, thank you for asking,” he said. “I started watching a zombie show on Netflix that’s actually set in feudal Rivain, which is an interesting twist on the genre–”

“Why are you bothering with me?” she said abruptly.

He paused. That wasn’t really what he’d expected her to say.

“Why shouldn’t I bother?” he asked.

“Why can’t you just answer the question?” she demanded.

“I think it’s more important that you answer mine,” he said seriously.

She scoffed. “I… you don’t know me.”

“I’d like to,” he said.

“Why?” she snapped. “I’ve been a total bitch to you. Do you usually spend this much time trying to get to know people who ghost you?”

He grinned. “So you admit that you ghosted me? Now we’re getting somewhere.” He leaned his elbows on the table. “Why _did_ you ghost me, by the way?”

She shot him a resentful look, which he decided to ignore. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “It would be easy to think you ghosted me because you don’t want to see me anymore. But the fact that you’re here would seem to nullify that hypothesis.”

She sneered. “Look at you, answering your own questions. I guess you’ve got me all figured out.”

“Not at all,” he said. “You’re quite the puzzle, _avise_. But I had an excellent time admiring the pieces last week. Maybe I’m just looking for a chance to put them together.”

A flash of vulnerability crossed her face before she resumed her usual haughty expression. “So what, you’re just in this for the challenge?”

He gave her a pointed look. “What if I was? I thought you didn’t care if I was just a playboy looking for a conquest.”

She narrowed her eyes, and Felassan leaned his elbows on the table again. “You know I’m not a playboy,” he said quietly. “That makes you angry for some reason.”

She glared viciously at him – _that_ had hit a nerve – then dragged her hands through her luscious hair. “Fine,” she said brusquely. “I’m a mysterious, fucked-up mess of a puzzle. You still want me to keep seeing you?”

He frowned. “Is that really what you think?”

“What?” she said irritably.

“That you’re fucked up.”

That heartwrenchingly vulnerable look crossed her face once more. She rubbed her nose, then frowned at him. “I… look, you don’t know what you’re asking for with me.”

He studied her for a moment, then tilted his head. “May I be frank?”

She pursed her lips. “Go ahead. I can’t stop you.”

“I think you’re too concerned with what _could_ happen to focus on what’s happening now.”

“Oh really,” she drawled _very_ sarcastically. 

“Absolutely,” he said. He gestured casually at himself. “In my opinion, what’s happening now is that I’m having a drink with a beautiful woman who happens to be someone that I spent a very good night with last week. And nobody was even naked.”

“I was half-naked,” she muttered.

He gave her a slow and heated smile. “Easy, _avise._ You’ll make me embarrass myself right here at this bar.”

She scoffed, but he could see her posture softening slightly. He leaned toward her once more. “Did you have a good time with me?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Do you want to keep having a good time?” he asked.

She finally looked him in the eye and raised a sardonic eyebrow. “No. I hate having fun.”

He grinned at her deadpan tone, then leaned back and folded his arms. “Then we should keep seeing each other. This doesn’t have to be serious and complicated, Tamaris.”

She dropped his gaze once more. To his surprise, her expression was growing somber – almost melancholy. “So you’re not looking for something serious, then?”

He hesitated before replying. His answer mattered to her, more than anything else she’d asked so far, and he wasn’t sure why. 

“I am open to whatever happens,” he said carefully. “‘Open’ being the point. If you don’t reply to my charming texts, we can’t very well see where this goes.” He declined to tell her that their single date had made him feel more connected to her than he’d felt to anyone in a long time, or that he knew the same to be true for her, if his conversation with Athera was anything to go by. If he was lucky and his words were sufficiently convincing, Tamaris would acknowledge their connection for herself when she was ready.

She scoffed. “Your texts weren’t that charming.”

He grinned. “I’ll have to try harder, then.” 

She shot him a wry look, then lifted her chin. “So what, then? Are you asking me to date you?”

“If that’s how you’d say that I would enjoy seeing you regularly, and that I will shamelessly fantasize about sleeping with you, then yes,” he said. “I’d like to date you.”

She pursed her lips before speaking. “And… are you going to be dating other people?”

He smirked. “A bold question from a woman who wears another man’s face emblazoned across her chest.”

“ _Ha_ ,” she scoffed. “You’d better bet that I’d be dating Garrus instead of you if he was real.”

He pulled a mock sad face. “You wound me, _avise._ Actually, no, I don’t blame you. I would rather date Garrus too.”

“Nice try,” she drawled. “I wouldn’t be sharing if he was real.”

“Is that why you ask if I’d be dating other people?” he said playfully. “You don’t like sharing?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, I don’t, actually. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not at all,” he said. Felassan actually didn’t mind dating around, but he genuinely couldn’t imagine anyone else drawing his attention more than Tamaris had.

She exhaled and took a sip of her drink, and Felassan waited patiently for her to speak again.

She set her glass on the table and looked him in the eye. “Fine. Let’s… we can keep seeing each other.”

 _Excellent,_ he thought happily. He smiled at her. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She huffed and rubbed her nose. “You have no idea,” she mumbled.

He regarded her fondly. He really didn’t know why this was such a struggle for her, but he hoped to find out in time.

A brief silence stretched between them. Tamaris began idly tearing her cocktail napkin into little pieces, and Felassan watched her with growing amusement until he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Tamaris,” he said.

She glanced at him. “What?”

He shifted over on his side of the booth and patted the seat beside him. “Come here.”

She gave him a chiding look. “Why?”

“Because I want to kiss you,” he said.

She stared at him for a second, then huffed and rubbed her mouth, and Felassan grinned; he could see her smile behind her hand. 

She finally stood up to join him on his side of the booth, then plopped down on the bench and gave him a flat look. “Happy now?”

“Nearly,” he said. Then, at long last, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. 

Her lips parted slowly like the unfurling of a rose, and Felassan tilted his head to match the slow and careful parting of her lips. He gently nipped her full lower lip, savouring the sweet plumpness between his teeth, and then Tamaris was deepening the kiss, tracing his tongue with her own and leaning into his chest and making his blood simmer with anticipation… 

He carefully peeled himself away from her lips. Her catlike eyes were heavy-lidded and languorous, and her enjoyment of their kiss was so obvious that he couldn't help but smile. 

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You missed me, didn’t you?” 

Her lips curled slowly into a sly sort of smirk that made his blood thrum. “I can tell you what I didn’t miss,” she replied. “The taste of that shit you’re drinking. Why do you drink that?”

“Because I like it, of course,” he said.

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s so fucking bitter.”

“It grows on you,” he said. He shifted closer to her and lifted her chin with two fingers. “Come, taste it again.”

She grinned at him. “You’re a fucking rogue, you know that?”

He helplessly returned her smile before taking her delicious lips in another kiss. He dipped his tongue into her mouth and twined his fingers in the smooth curls of her hair while she twisted her fingers in his shirt just like she had the first night they’d met. When they pulled apart a heart-pounding moment later, both of them were panting.

He brushed his lips to hers. “See?” he whispered. “The more you taste it, the sweeter it gets.”

“You’re so full of shit,” she breathed, and then they were kissing even more greedily than before. Her hand rose to cradle his neck, her fingers slipping around his nape to toy with his tied-up hair, and he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her as close as he could despite the constraints of the booth they were sitting in. 

Tamaris kissed him hungrily, slanting her lips firmly over his and stroking his tongue smoothly with her own, and Felassan eagerly accepted the uninhibited passion of her lips. The way she was kissing him, the sheer unstinting greed in the pull of her lips and the way she arched toward him, like her body was drawn to meet his own like a magnet: to Felassan, this felt like much more than just a kiss. It was a capitulation of sorts. It was a way for Tamaris to give in and give up in some small way, even if she wasn’t ready to explain what exactly she was giving up, and Felassan was more than happy to accept any concession she would give, especially when it came in the form of a kiss from this exquisitely complicated woman.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there necking in the cozy booth at the Neighbour’s House. All he knew was that by the time they finally broke apart, her hand was on his thigh and his cock was a pulsing beacon in his pants, and the ice in her drink had completely melted. 

Her forest-green eyes were glassy with ardour, and he admired them as he traced her jawline with his thumb. “Would you care to come back to my place?” he murmured.

As soon as he said it, she went still like a rabbit — an interesting reaction again, considering how heatedly they were kissing. 

He leaned away from her slightly. “You left before we could finish watching _Blasto_ ,” he explained. “I’ve been on tenterhooks all week waiting to see how it ends.”

She instantly relaxed and gave him a chiding look. “You’ve seen that movie a handful of times.”

“It’s just as thrilling every time.”

She gave him a skeptical look, and Felassan playfully tweaked a lock of her hair. “Think about it while I pay for these drinks,” he said. He gestured for her to slide out of the booth so he could get by.

She frowned as she stood up. “No, you paid last time, let me–”

“I insist,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back in a moment.” He went to the bar to pay, but his intention was more than chivalry; she clearly needed a minute alone to think.

He chatted quietly with the bartender and the waitstaff while he paid, then leisurely made his way back to the booth. Tamaris was typing on her phone, and she looked notably more relaxed than when he’d left. 

He sat across from her, and she shot him a wry look. “Okay. I’ll, um… let’s go back to your place.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

She shrugged and tucked her phone in the pocket of her jacket. “Yeah. Besides, we didn’t see the scene yet where Garrus takes off his armour.”

Felassan gave her a woeful look. “You really do wound my pride, you know.”

She snorted in amusement and stood up, and Felassan stood up with her. Just before he left the table, he took one last sip of his lukewarm drink. 

The atrocious stout-and-vodka mixture was even more bitter when it wasn’t cold, but Felassan enjoyed the flavours all the same as it flowed past the base of his tongue. 

He placed the glass on the table. _The aftertaste is always so sweet,_ he thought, and he followed Tamaris out of the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tamaris’s Garrus shirt is a real shirt that exists, and I know this because I OWN IT. It was a gift from my very indulgent fiance. 😂
> 
> If you’re wondering whether Felassan and Tamaris have sex back at Felassan’s place, I will say only this: every couple’s first time will be described in explicit detail. I won’t be leaving the good shit to your imaginations. 😉
> 
> Next chapter: a special little chapter for Nare and ~~Professor BadBoy~~ Solas! 😂❤
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa at your service](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), and our wonderful artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	14. Memos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE texting in fics (if you didn’t get that already, heh), so I want to include some chapters that are just pure texting/emailing/messaging. To kick things off: some texting between Professor Solas and Naughty Nare. 
> 
> This picks up the day after their most recent supervisor meeting (i.e. the day after Chapters 9-13). And YES, OKAY, I’ve made a calendar for this fic to track the passage of time. 😂

Nare Wed Sept 9, 14:09  
Is this another typo?

Nare 14:09  
[img1804.jpg]

Solas 14:10  
Ah. A common misconception. That is the correct date, in fact. The most recent evidence from a dig site in Carestes shows that the mural in question is about 500 years older than was previously thought.

Nare 14:10  
You’re kidding!

Solas 14:10  
I’m quite serious. Unfortunately, the article describing the analysis of the mural has only been published in Elvhen to date. I am currently working on a translation. 

Nare 14:10  
I can’t wait to read it!

Solas 14:11  
I’m glad to hear it. Felassan will be assigning it to your art history seminar class as a required reading. 

Nare 14:11  
Perfect!

Nare 14:11  
And here I thought I would impress you by finding another typo 😉

Solas 14:11  
Your dedication to your schoolwork impresses me.

Nare 14:11  
I’ll be sure to keep it up then, professor

Solas 14:12  
You have been doing a lot of reading as of late.

Nare 14:12  
Yes! You’ve sent me some really good things to read

Solas 14:12  
I’m glad you are finding it engaging. But I worry now that perhaps all the reading I’ve given you is taking away from your art. Painting is the most important part of your work. It is important to me that you have time for it. 

Nare 14:12  
Don’t worry, I’m painting every day too! 

Nare 14:12  
I can send you a photo of what I was working on this morning

Solas 14:12  
I would be pleased to see it.

Nare 14:12  
[img1805.jpg]

Solas 14:13  
Ah yes, the dry brush technique. I like that you are practicing this technique in black and white. 

Nare 14:13  
I thought it would be easier to focus on the light and shadow without having to worry about colour

Solas 14:13  
An excellent notion. It is coming along nicely, Nare. You have been experimenting with the size and pressure of the brush strokes, I see?

Nare 14:13  
Yes!

Nare 14:13  
I can’t decide yet if I prefer the look of more obvious brushstrokes or smaller subtler ones

Nare 14:13  
It will probably depend on how sketchy I want the final piece to look

Solas 14:14  
That is what I would also have said. You will also find yourself mixing the types of brushstroke depending on which parts of your final piece are in focus.

Nare 14:14  
That’s true! 

Nare 14:14  
Thank you for looking at my work! I really appreciate it

Solas 14:14  
You are most welcome. I look forward to seeing where you take it.

Nare 14:16  
What are you up to?

Solas 14:16  
I am reading the final draft of an article that Merrill will be submitting for publication. 

Nare 14:16  
Ooh I’ll let you focus then

Nare 14:16  
Thank you again!

Solas 14:16  
It’s my pleasure.

Nare 14:16  
😊

********************

Nare Fri Sept 11, 13:07  
Sorry to bother you — I had a question about the dry brush technique, can I call you at your office?

Solas 14:05  
Forgive me, I was at a department meeting. But I will be back at my office shortly if you wish to call.

Solas 15:01  
Nare, are you still in need of help?

Nare 18:37  
Sorry sorry I’m so sorry, I got into the zone with my painting and I figured it out, thank you and sorry! 

Solas 18:37  
There is no need to apologize. I’m glad you were able to find a solution.

Nare 18:37  
Can I show you what I did? I’m pretty happy with it

Solas 18:37  
You can, certainly. 

Nare 18:37  
Okay I’ll show you later, I don’t have a pic of it rn on my phone, I’ll text you when I get home later!

Solas 18:37  
There is no rush. Have a good evening.

Nare Sat Sept 12, 00:34  
[img1814.jpg]

Nare 00:34  
My painting!

Solas 00:38  
This is very good. I like the subtlety of the shading for the cheek. It gives the skin a particularly luminous feel.

Nare 00:38  
Oh good thats what I was hoping for! 

Nare 00:38  
That’s*** sorry I thought my phone would autocorrect that lol

Solas 00:38  
That’s all right. Did you enjoy your night?

Nare 00:38  
I did! We had dinner and drinks

Solas 00:38  
We?

Nare 00:38  
Oh sorry! Me Athera and Tamaris

Nare 00:38  
It’s been a while since we went out. We usually just hang out at home but Athera and I thought it would be nice to get out of our sweatpants lol

Nare 00:39  
[img1810.jpg]

Solas 00:39  
You look very lovely. I recognize that red dress.

Nare 00:39  
Hahaha oh no not you too! Athera and Tamaris commented that I wear it a lot

Nare 00:39  
I think I need to go dress shopping lol!

Solas 00:39  
I did not mean that as an insult. I like the dress very much.

Nare 00:39  
You really are a sweet talker you know

Nare 00:39  
Even when we arent talking 

Solas 00:40  
You are the only one who believes me to be a sweet talker, I assure you.

Solas 00:40  
Most people are of the opposite opinion.

Nare 00:40  
That’s good!

Solas 00:40  
How so?

Nare 00:40  
It means I’m the only person you’re sweet talking to

Solas 00:41  
It’s quite late. Perhaps you should get some rest.

Nare 00:41  
I’m hassling you I know I’m sorry I’ll stop

Nare 00:41  
Oh shit were you asleep??

Solas 00:41  
I was, in fact.

Nare 00:41  
Oh gods Solas I’m so sorry

Nare 00:41  
I’m sorry!! Im so sorry ignore me, goodnight!

Solas 00:41  
It’s all right. I would not have 

Solas 00:41  
I apologize. My thumb slipped. It was my choice to check my phone. You are not to blame.

Nare 00:41  
I’m still sorry! I didn’t mean to disturb you!

Solas 00:41  
You are never a disturbance. My cat was more disturbed than I.

Nare 00:41  
You have a cat?

Solas 00:41  
I do, yes.

Nare 00:41  
Solas! That’s so sweet! Whats your cat’s name

Solas 00:42  
Her name is Fenor. It means ‘precious’ in Elvhen.

Nare 00:42  
That is so cute! ❤❤❤

Nare 00:42  
She sleeps with you? On your bed?

Solas 00:42  
She does, yes. When she is in the mood, at least. She can be quite mercurial, as cats tend to be.

Nare 00:42  
Lucky Fenor!

Nare 00:42  
She doesn’t know what a privilege she has

Solas 00:44  
I will pass that message on to her. 

Nare 00:44  
Lol!!

Nare 00:44  
Ok I’ll really let you sleep now, I promise

Nare 00:44  
Goodnight professor! xo

Solas 00:44  
Goodnight, Nare.

******************

Nare 09:23  
Solas, I am so sorry for texting you so late last night. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was drinking last night with my friends. I wouldn’t have bothered you so late otherwise. I was really unprofessional and I hope I can make it up to you somehow. 

Nare 09:24  
You don’t have to reply today, or at all, but please let me know if I can do anything to make up for this. I won’t text you anymore until our meeting on Tuesday, I promise.

Solas 09:26  
Nare, it is all right. Please don’t worry.

Nare 09:26  
I can’t believe you’re replying! You should be furious at me

Solas 09:26  
I am not furious, I assure you. It’s all right.

Nare 09:26  
I’m so embarrassed! I can’t believe I woke you up

Nare 09:26  
You told me you’d been having trouble sleeping and I woke you up right in the middle of the night! I’m terrible!

Solas 09:26  
There’s no need for embarrassment. I promise you, I am not angry. There is nothing to make up for.

Solas 09:26  
Not to me, at least. Fenor may feel otherwise.

Nare 09:26  
LOL! I actually laughed out loud

Nare 09:26  
I can’t believe you’re not mad at me. I was so bad last night

Solas 09:27  
Your behaviour was fairly bad, yes.

Nare 09:27  
So you agree that I was bad, but you’re not mad about it? 

Solas 09:27  
That appears to be the case.

Nare 09:27  
You’re a funny one, professor… 

Solas 09:27  
I am a very forgiving professor.

Nare 09:27  
Forgiveness isn’t what the Dread Wolf has a reputation for 😉

Solas 09:29  
Ah yes. My dreaded reputation. Should I insist on you having a little more discipline, then?

Nare 09:29  
Honestly? I’d welcome the discipline from you

Solas 09:32  
Hm. In any case, thank you for the apology. But it is not necessary. I hope you will not be too hungover to enjoy the rest of your weekend.

Nare 09:32  
I won’t! I feel much better already, honestly

Nare 09:32  
Have a great day!

Solas 09:32  
You as well.

*******************

Nare Tues Sept 15 10:45  
I’m here a bit early! Are you not in your office?

Solas 10:45  
No, actually. I may be a bit late, in fact.

Nare 10:45  
Oh no, is everything ok?

Solas 10:45  
I’m stuck in traffic at the moment. There was a small accident, it seems. My apologies.

Nare 10:45  
Are you texting while driving?

Solas 10:45  
I am texting while stopped in traffic.

Nare 10:45  
Tsk tsk. That’s still against the law

Nare 10:45  
Sounds like I’m not the only one who needs some discipline!

Solas 10:45  
Hold that thought. I am moving again. 

Nare 10:45  
Put your phone down professor!

***********************

Solas 19:27  
I am sorry to text, but I believe I made an error in my schedule. Did we say 09:00 or 10:00 for our new weekly meeting time on Thursdays?

Nare 19:35  
09:00 -- is that still okay with you?

Solas 19:35  
Yes. I thought I had said 10:00 by accident.

Nare 19:35  
Do you have to be somewhere else at 10 on Thursdays?

Solas 19:35  
No, I don’t teach on Thursdays until 13:00.

Nare 19:35  
The earlier we meet, the better? 😊

Solas 19:36  
Yes, actually. It will give us more time if we need it.

Nare 19:36  
More time together is always good!

Solas 19:36  
I agree.

Nare 19:36  
I have to eat dinner now but have a good evening! 

Solas 19:36  
You as well.

******************

Nare Thurs Sept 17 08:57  
I’m running a bit late! I’m so sorry!

Solas 08:57  
Is this meeting time too early for you?

Nare 08:57  
Haha no no there was just a crazy line at the cafe this morning! I’m sorry

Nare 08:57  
But I’m bringing you some tea to make up for it

Solas 08:57  
That is a joke, I presume?

Nare 08:58  
Yes of course! 😂

Solas 08:58  
Good. A bit of tardiness is forgivable. A cup of tea, however…

Nare 08:58  
Stop making me laugh! People are giving me funny looks

Solas 08:58  
Perhaps you should put your phone away and focus on walking more quickly.

Nare 08:58  
Maybe you should stop answering my texts when you could be working until I get there!

Solas 08:58  
Are you talking back to your supervisor?

Nare 08:58  
Of course not, I would never 😇

Solas 08:59  
I’m glad to hear it. Be quick, Nare. It’s getting late.

Nare 08:59  
Yes, professor!

*********************

Nare Sun Sept 20 20:21  
I’m sorry to bug you on a Sunday night but I’m really struggling with something

Nare 20:21  
Can you look at my piece and let me know what I’m doing wrong?

Solas 20:30  
Of course. Show me.

Nare 20:30  
[img1835.jpg]

Nare 20:30  
I want there to be a nice light effect but it just looks muddy

Solas 20:32  
Ah. I see. I believe it’s your watercolour training that’s foiling you. You’re trying to use a watercolour technique to retain the light effect, but remember that with oils, you can add the highlights after the fact.

Nare 20:32  
I know, but when I try that, it just feels so heavy

Solas 20:32  
I understand your frustration. I think I would be of greater help if we discuss this in person, however. We can meet to discuss this before the seminar on Tuesday.

Nare 20:33  
Can we meet tomorrow?

Nare 20:33  
I’m sorry for being so pushy I’m just so frustrated

Solas 20:33  
I can’t meet tomorrow, I’m afraid. I will be in Val Chevin for a one-day conference. I am truly sorry.

Nare 20:33  
No no it’s okay it’s a last minute ask

Nare 20:34  
I’ll just put it aside for now

Solas 20:34  
That would be best.

Solas 20:34  
Try not to ruminate too much on this, Nare. Remember that you are still learning. You are not expected to be perfect.

Nare 20:35  
I know but still… 

Solas 20:36  
I know it is hard for you to shift your thinking away from this mindset. But this is only your first month of developing these techniques in greater depth. I do not expect perfection from you in a single month.

Nare 20:37  
I just don’t want to disappoint you

Solas 20:37  
You are the farthest thing from a disappointment to me. But I am more concerned about you being pleased with your own work. I want you to feel joy and pride for your work.

Nare 20:38  
Yeah I know

Solas 20:39  
Put the oils aside for now. Do some studies in gouache or watercolour instead. Or perhaps some speed sketching to refresh yourself. 

Nare 20:39  
Ok I will

Nare 20:39  
Thank you, Solas. I’m sorry for being so needy

Solas 20:39  
As I said before, there is no need to apologize. I regret that we can’t talk about this sooner.

Solas 20:39  
Let me know if I can assist in any other way before Tuesday.

Nare 20:42  
Actually there is something that might help but I don’t want to sound weird

Solas 20:42  
What is it?

Nare 20:42  
I feel weird asking. And you can say no if it makes you feel weird

Solas 20:42  
Feel free to ask, Nare.

Nare 20:42  
Can you send me a recording of you saying that stuff? The stuff about not needing it to be perfect right away? I find it comforting when you say it and it’s not the same to read it

Solas 20:43  
A recording?

Nare 20:43  
You can say no, I know it’s kind of a weird thing to ask, please say no if it makes you uncomfortable

Solas 20:44  
That is not the problem. I regret to admit that I’m not sure how to make a recording to send to you.

Nare 20:44  
Oh there’s an app for voice memos! If you search on your phone you should be able to find it

Solas 20:44  
Voice memos?

Nare 20:44  
Yeah did you find it? I’ll send you a screenshot if you can’t

Solas 20:48  
[Art.m4a]

Nare 20:52  
Solas this is perfect

Nare 20:52  
It’s amazing. Seriously I love it so much

Solas 20:52  
You’re welcome. I hope it will be of some comfort.

Nare 20:53  
You have no idea

Nare 20:53  
I’m just going to listen to this all night!

Solas 20:54  
I didn’t realize the oil techniques were of such great concern to you. I can provide more hands-on instruction if that would be helpful. 

Nare 20:54  
That would be amazing actually, I would love that, but that’s not really why I’m listening to this on loop

Solas 20:54  
What do you mean?

Nare 20:55  
I really like your voice

Solas 20:56  
That’s kind of you to say.

Nare 20:56  
When I read your texts I imagine that you’re saying them to me

Solas 20:57  
That is what I imagine, as well. 

Nare 20:59  
Seriously Solas this recording is everything

Solas 20:59  
I hope it will suffice until Tuesday.

Nare 20:59  
It’s perfect. Thank you seriously

Nare 20:59  
I’m going to go get some sleep now!

Solas 20:59  
So early? 

Nare 20:59  
Yeah I’m pretty tired from working on this painting 

Nare 21:02  
[Thank you professor.m4a]

Solas 21:04  
Ha. You are most welcome.

Nare 21:04  
😘

Solas 21:04  
I’m amused that I didn’t know this app existed before. I am suddenly quite fond of it.

Nare 21:04  
I can see myself using it more often now!

Solas 21:04  
I could see it being useful as well. 

Nare 21:04  
Maybe you can send me some comforting voice memos while you’re in Val Chevin tomorrow

Solas 21:04  
I will only be gone for the day.

Nare 21:04  
It’s still an entire day before I’ll hear your voice again

Solas 21:07  
I will consider it.

Solas 21:07  
Until then, sleep well, Nare.

Nare 21:07  
I absolutely will. Thank you, professor xoxo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas POV in the next chapter!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and my beloved partner-in-crime and artist is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	15. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing out there? Sending hugs to everyone who needs them in these trying times!! In the meantime, I'll keep trying to distract you all with hot elves flirting. 😂♥

###  SOLAS 

Nare leaned away from Solas’s computer screen with a sigh. “... so after I tried for the fifth time to layer the colours and ended up with just a bunch of muddy-looking landscapes, I got fed up. That’s when I texted you.” She shot him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Bothering you on a Sunday night like that.”

He gave her a gently chiding look over his reading glasses. “I told you, you are never a bother. But this is what I mentioned on Sunday. Layering is not as useful in oil painting as it is with watercolours.” He leaned back in his chair. “What could be helpful, however, is to carry over your gouache techniques instead of the watercolour techniques. Gouache is more opaque — closer in opacity to oils than watercolours, in any case, though the opacity is not nearly as…”

He trailed off in amusement. Nare’s face had fallen into an expression that was very reminiscent of a lightbulb turning on over a cartoon character’s head. 

He smiled at her. “You see what I’m suggesting, don’t you?”

“I’ll just create the highlights after the fact,” she exclaimed. “I’ll add them at the end instead of working around the canvas to get the whites.”

“Yes, exactly,” Solas said. 

She laughed and ran a hand over her ponytail. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that on my own. I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t insult yourself, Nare,” he said firmly. “It serves no purpose.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Sorry. It’s — it’s automatic. I don’t really mean it.”

He relaxed slightly, then tilted his head. “It is not often that a piece frustrates you to this degree, is it?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I don’t usually start over this many times. Even if I’m not happy with a study, I always just finish it so I can start fresh on the next one.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You always finish your studies?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Even if I don’t like them, I… it’s hard for me to leave them unfinished.” She sighed and leaned back against his desk, and he studied her pensively for a moment. This was something he hadn’t known about her process, and it was certainly enlightening. 

In truth, everything he had learned about Nare over the past two weeks was enlightening. In the space of a mere two weeks, Solas already felt like he was becoming well-versed in who she was. With every passing day, he learned more about what excited her and what made her nervous, the things she was most passionate about and the things that made her laugh. 

And with every new thing he learned about her, he felt more… _aligned_ with her than he had any right to feel, considering that they had known each other for less than a month. And it wasn’t just their increasingly lengthy supervisor-student meetings that were giving him these fascinating insights into who Nare was. 

It was the texts. The insidious, unwise, inadvisable conversations by text message that Solas was incapable of cutting off, no matter that he ought to. 

He was still trying to maintain a modicum of professional distance by _not_ being the one to initiate the texts, but that didn’t change the fact that he was checking his phone more eagerly these days than he ever had in his life. In some small and admittedly deluded part of his mind, he had convinced himself that if he kept a small amount of distance, letting Nare be the one to initiate contact, he could maintain a veneer of innocence in this, despite his obvious culpability. 

_You are the only one who believes me to be a sweet talker._  
_Should I insist on you having a little more discipline?_  
_Are you talking back to your supervisor?_

His overly candid texts, his inappropriate innuendo-laced remarks, and worse yet, the voice memos...

He was making a mistake, and he knew it. But with every passing day, he found himself caring less and less. He had never texted anyone as often or in the same capacity as he texted with Nare. His texts with Abelas and Dorian were entirely professional, and his texts with Felassan were a bit more frequent and casual with occasional bouts of banter, but he’d never engaged in anything like the texted conversations he had with Nare. And their exchanges really felt like actual conversations. Solas had never realized that it was possible to have such in-depth conversations via text. 

He had never realized how quickly the intimacy of a bond could be fostered by the simple medium of typed-out messages on his screen. 

Solas forced his mind away from the idea of intimacy and bonds and removed his reading glasses. “Do you recall how in your portfolio submission for this program, I asked you not only to submit your best works, but the ones you consider to be your worst?”

“Yes,” she said.

He nodded. “Your weakest works still displayed good technical skills, and what you remarked on were the technical errors, which told me what you already know: you have a strong technical foundation — a very good handle on perspective, anatomy, colour theory and so on.” He set his glasses on the desk. “What I found interesting is what you _didn’t_ point out in your own weakest pieces.”

Her expression became wary, as though she was afraid of what he would say. “What do you mean?”

“Your weakest pieces all had a stiffness to them,” he said. “A rushed but almost static feel, as though you were stuck on them in some way but forced yourself to finish them just for the sake of being able to say they were finished.”

Her face slackened with surprise. “You could tell that from looking at them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…” She trailed off and stared at him. Her expression was shifting from surprise to an odd sort of melancholy, almost as though he’d exposed her in some way that she hadn’t expected to be exposed, and he watched her changing expression with some concern.

“Did I offend you?” he said softly.

“No,” she said quickly. “No, it’s not that. I’m just…” She licked her lips nervously. “None of my art professors before ever… remarked on that.”

He frowned slightly at this. “It appears quite obvious to me.”

She shot him a tiny smile, then took a deep breath and folded her arms as though she was cold. “So you could see from those bad pieces that I was struggling just to finish them?”

“Yes, I could,” he said. “Now, having become more familiar with your work and the way you think while you’re painting, I believe that those pieces are the result of you getting trapped in a certain mindset. It is almost like you fall into a groove with them, and you become too focused on finishing them rather than stepping back to re-evaluate their quality.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I get what you’re saying, but I just… I don’t like leaving things unfinished.”

“Studies are never meant to be finished,” he reminded her. “The entire point of a study is essentially to play. To figure out the bones of your piece and to problem-solve.” He frowned. “Your undergraduate art professors allowed you to finish your studies?”

She shrugged again. “They seemed to like it when I did. They thought the finished studies were good.”

“But _you_ didn’t,” he said. It wasn’t a question; he knew she didn’t care for her own finished studies, which was why she had submitted them as her weakest pieces.

“No,” she said. 

He frowned more deeply. “You should have trusted your own judgment in this matter.”

She gave him a small smile. “You’re saying I should have ignored the opinions of my professors?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Some professors have better opinions than others.”

She laughed. “I wonder where I can find a professor with a good opinion, then,” she said playfully.

Solas smiled in return, but he didn’t reply. Nare was half-sitting on his desk with her head tilted coquettishly, and he was visited by a heated — and very inappropriate — urge to seat her more firmly on the surface of his desk and to discipline her for her cheeky remark.

Ah yes, he would discipline her slowly. He’d strip off her pants and push her legs apart, and he’d run his tongue slowly and _very_ teasingly along the insides of her thighs until she promised not to talk back to her supervisor anymore.

His cock stirred in his trousers, but he shunted the lustful thoughts away just as he had done every time they’d met in person for the past two weeks. His meetings and his seminar class with Nare were becoming a true test of his self-control. On the one hand, they were satisfyingly productive and intellectually stimulating; every time Solas saw Nare, she had read or watched at least one of his recommended resources, be it an article or a book chapter or a tutorial video, and the ensuing discussions they had were as satisfying as any that he had with any other scholar or artist at the university. 

On the other hand, his treacherous lust-fuelled body was so attuned to her that he had to physically force himself not to reach for her whenever she was near. 

Solas was torn: torn between his dual urges to discuss everything with her and to devour her. His only saving grace was the fact that he’d finally given in and allowed himself to fantasize about her when he touched himself — which he had being doing almost every night for the past two weeks, to his own mild disgruntlement.

He was sleeping very well, however, so he supposed he couldn’t complain.

“For what it is worth, my opinion is this,” he said. “It appears that you have gotten into a habit of making the completion of a piece your goal, and that you’ll drive toward completing a piece even if you are unsatisfied with it, or if you know something about the piece is off. But finishing a painting should not be your ultimate goal. What you should be striving for is to create something expressive — something that captures the feeling or the message that you intend to convey, whether the form of that creation is a completed painting or a half-finished study or a simple sketch.” He gave her a knowing look. “You should be striving to make something that brings you joy and satisfaction, Nare. Something you can take pride in. It is not enough to finish the piece if you did not derive any satisfaction from it.”

She smiled weakly. “I don’t know that concept artists or other professional artists would agree with you about that.”

He huffed in amusement. “You’re right. Felassan and I have had to agree to disagree about this matter. But to my understanding, you are not aiming to be a concept artist.”

“That’s true,” she said softly. She took a deep breath, then released it. “So instead of trying to always finish the piece, I should just… ask myself if I’m happy with it.”

“Exactly,” he said.

She nodded, then gave him a pleading look. “But I want the art to be good, though.”

“That’s what studies are for,” he reminded her. “Your other professors seem to have forgotten that, but the purpose of a study is to practice. To hone your technical skills as well as your ideas.”

“And what if I find myself grinding away at a piece even though I don’t like it?” she asked. “I should just… what, throw it away?”

He shook his head. “Don’t throw away unfinished pieces. Set them aside and come back to them. When inspiration leaves you dry, the best approach can often be to come back with a fresh perspective. Set the piece aside, focus on something else, let it live at the back of your mind. Then return to it when you are refreshed, even if returning to it means leaving it alone for years.”

“Years!” she exclaimed. “Have you ever left a piece to sit for years before coming back to it?”

“I have, in fact,” he said dryly. “So I believe my opinion about this matter is a valid one.”

She chuckled. “All right. I’m sorry, professor.”

His heart jolted at her playful — and provocative — use of the term. She smiled broadly at him, then exhaled and nodded. “Okay. I’ll work on just… putting things aside and coming back to them.” She smiled wryly. “I’m so impatient, though.”

“I’ll help to coach you in this,” he assured her. “I am very patient.”

“I hope that rubs off on me,” she said.

His belly flipped at the innuendo in her tone. His eyes locked onto hers, her brilliant oceanic eyes, and for a moment they just stood there, frozen in the forbidden but heated thrill that was building between them. 

She was still leaning against his desk while he sat in his chair. In this pose, this tense and heated tableau they were locked into, Nare’s knee was nearly brushing his, and he wouldn’t even need to fully extend his arm to touch her. He could place his hand on her waist, brush his thumb over her hip, trail his fingers toward the fly of her pants and peel them open button-by-button until she was panting — all with barely having to try… 

He abruptly stood up, then clasped his hands behind his back as he made his way around his desk. “As I mentioned on Sunday, I am happy to provide more hands-on instruction in oil painting techniques. Even one or two sessions could help to build your confidence with this medium.”

“I would love that,” she said. “When can we start? Where should we do the lessons?”

“I will have to check my schedule to determine the best time,” he said. “As for where: the university’s graduate studio would be most convenient. We can easily book a space.” Secretly, however, he was imagining her in his studio at his apartment. The thought of having Nare in his home, standing barefoot in front of an easel while he provided gentle guidance for her slender hands: the fantasy made him feel aroused and protective at the same time, as though he wanted to guard her from others while keeping her selfishly for his own, and he was grateful for the span of space between them as he wandered idly toward his bookshelves. 

“The grad studio space sounds good,” she said. She started edging around to the front of his desk as well. “Or, um. I… Tamaris and I have a studio space at our apartment.”

He looked at her. Her expression was shy but hopeful, and when he met her eye, she ducked her head in that bashful way that always made him want to bend her over his desk. 

She tucked a russet strand of hair over her ear and let out a little laugh. “That probably wouldn’t work, though. Tamaris uses that space most of the day for her tattoo clients and I don’t want to get in her way. But she, um, she also doesn’t work every day, she always picks a day of the week where she sees no clients, so we could always — I mean, you could come and — all my paints and supplies are already there…” 

She was babbling. She looked up and met his eye again, then let out another self-deprecating laugh and rubbed her arms as though she was cold. “Never mind. It’s a dumb idea. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

Solas didn’t reply. Truly, in this moment, he was forcing himself not to speak or to move. The way her manner shifted so seamlessly from bold and flirtatious to bashful and demure was so… _Fenedhis,_ it was a perfect dichotomy, like two glimmering facets that melded so perfectly in this one beautiful young woman, and each side of her seemed to call to something different and complementary in the depths of his soul. 

He wanted to teach her and to watch her bloom. He wanted to pin her down and make her beg. He wanted to protect her from any clumsy lovers who would fail her, and he wanted to imprint himself on her body so thoroughly that she would forget any other lovers who had come before. 

Solas wanted Nare so badly that it was a physical ache, and with every passing beat of his heart, he had to remind himself of the ugly truth: he absolutely could not have her. He could banter with her and text her and savour the undeniable electricity between them, but at all costs, he needed to remember: Nare was not his to have.

He inhaled slowly through his nose to master himself. “Let us stick to the plan of booking a student space for this,” he said. “Teaching you at your home studio would be unwise.”

He regretted his word choice the moment it left his mouth: Nare straightened with interest. “Unwise? Why?”

_Because I would be far too tempted to ravish you if we were alone,_ he thought. “Not unwise,” he amended quickly. “Inappropriate.”

Her hopeful expression became playful. “What, you’ve never taught any other students at their studios at home?”

He gave her a chiding look, even as his heart swelled with a heated sort of amusement. Shy one moment and cheeky the next… she was such an irreverent little vixen. 

“I haven’t,” he said calmly. “But you are the first fine arts graduate student I have had since I began working at the University of Orlais.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re kidding! Why? There must have been tons of students who wanted to work with you.”

“None that met my standards,” he said. “Felassan says my standards are frighteningly high. And that is not sweet talking, as you would say,” he added wryly. “That is the simple truth.” He paced slowly in front of his bookshelf as he went on. “You are already a very good artist, Nare. With some tutelage and guidance, I have no doubt that you will be exceptional.”

She smiled shyly and sat on the couch. “How can you have such faith in me when I don’t have that kind of faith in myself?”

“Many of the finest artists are shackled by self-doubt and uncertainty,” he replied. “The artists who succeed are the ones who channel that uncertainty into a drive to improve their work.”

“So do you think it’s good that I’m always criticizing myself?”

“Your self-criticism can go one of two ways,” he explained. “It can become a weight that prevents you from progressing, or it can become an objective lens that will drive you to improve for the rest of your life. As objective a lens as there can be when it comes to art, at least,” he added with a small smile.

“You won’t let me get weighed down by my doubts, will you?” she asked.

He paused in his pacing and faced her. “I will not let that happen, Nare,” he said seriously. “Do not worry about that.”

“I’m not worried,” she said. “I trust you.”

_I trust you._ Her words were simple and guileless, but for some reason, they hit him like a bolt of emotion straight to the gut. For her to say that to him so easily and so quickly, with such perfect sincerity, even though they had known each other for less than a month… 

She let out another breathy little laugh and nervously adjusted her bracelets. “Honestly, I… I trust your judgment more than… more than any other professor I’ve ever had.”

He swallowed hard. “I am honoured by your trust,” he said quietly.

Her answering smile was sweet, and Solas admired her with a mixture of lust and regret and inexplicable tenderness — tenderness that he absolutely should not be feeling for his student, but which had burst upon him nevertheless, like a sunshower that he had been both unable and unwilling to avoid. 

For a long, suspended moment, neither of them spoke. And in this tense and electric moment, Solas swore to himself that he would _never_ betray Nare’s trust, no matter what happened.

Nare was the one to break the silence. “We spend so much time talking about my work,” she said. “I’d love to hear about yours. Are you working on any paintings right now?”

He relaxed, grateful for the innocuous change of subject. “I’m afraid to admit that I’m not.”

“You aren’t?” she said.

He smirked. “There’s no need to look at me like that. I realize the irony.”

She chuckled. “As long as you realize it. What have you been sketching or drawing, then?”

He smiled at her. In one of their meetings, he had told her that he drew or sketched every day even when he wasn’t actively painting, and he was flattered that she had remembered that little detail of his routine. 

He shrugged and resumed his slow pacing. “I haven’t drawn anything worth showing lately,” he said — a near-lie, unfortunately. In truth, he’d been refining the sketch of the eager hands in the hopes of turning it into a fully-finished drawing. It would be the first realistic anatomical drawing he had done in several years. But he was keeping this particular piece to himself for now. 

Nare gave him a skeptical look. “Oh come on, I don’t believe that. Your sketchbook must be full of amazing work.”

“I don’t use a sketchbook,” he replied.

Her eyes widened. “Wait, really? What do you sketch on, then?”

“I draw on loose cardstock,” he said. “I dislike being constrained by the binding of a sketchbook or the height of a stack of pages. It interferes with the positioning of my hand.”

She beamed at him, and the warmth in her expression lifted an answering warmth in his belly. “What amuses you?” he said softly.

“It’s just such a specific preference,” she said. “Like a special quirk.” She tilted her head. “I like knowing special little things about you.”

He huffed and rubbed his chin. “Then perhaps you’ll be entertained to hear about the shelf of haphazardly stacked cardstock sketches in my studio at home.”

“You’re kidding!” she exclaimed. “What, just piled on a shelf?”

“Yes,” he said with a small smile. “It’s quite a mess.”

She giggled and eyed his less-than-organized desktop. “That actually doesn't surprise me.”

He playfully lifted one eyebrow. “That’s disrespectful.”

“I’m sorry, professor,” she said, equally playfully. “Are your loose sketches dated, at least?”

He winced, and Nare laughed again. “No! That’s really terrible!”

He chuckled. “Athera would be horrified if ever she saw my shelf of sketches.”

“She would!” Nare agreed. “It would be a nightmare for her. _I_ wouldn’t mind helping you to organize your shelves, though.”

Solas carefully maintained his pleasantly neutral expression. This was not the first time Nare had hinted at wanting to see his apartment, and every time she did, he got a thrill at the thought — and immediately changed the subject to stop himself from inviting her over like he so desperately wanted to do.

“That’s a kind thought,” he said. “At any rate, to answer your original question: no, I’m not working on any serious painted pieces at the moment.”

“How come?” she said. “Haven’t you been having interesting dreams?”

“My dreams have been a bit light on inspiration as of late,” he said. “Luckily, I keep a journal to jot down my more interesting dreams so I can come back to them when I am lacking in new ideas.”

Her eyes widened in wonder. “You have a dream diary?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’d love to see it,” she said eagerly.

He hesitated. “Well, it’s… rather private,” he hedged. Few people knew about his dream journal — only Felassan and Abelas and a couple of others — and none had ever asked to see it before. But the thought of showing something so private to Nare was dangerously tempting.

She pulled a little face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. I’m honoured by your interest. It’s… uncommon to receive this much interest in my process.”

“That makes sense, if you haven’t had an art student in so long,” she said knowingly. “I bet any fine art student would be really interested in your process.”

“ _Your_ interest is what pleases me,” he said without thinking.

A flush lit her cheeks, and the flare of hope in her eyes was so obvious and so beautiful that it made him feel like he was falling off of a cliff. 

He hastily changed the subject. “I would be happy to share some of my more interesting dreams. The ones that I can recall, at least.”

She straightened. “Really? I’d love that!”

“All right,” he said. He leaned against the edge of his desk and folded his arms. “There was one dream I had of late: a figure so striking that I was forced to rise from my bed to sketch it out.” He tilted his head. “The Dalish tell tales of spirits, yes?”

“Yes, we do,” she said. She gestured at her face. “In Dalish traditions, our vallaslin was meant to help us connect with the spirit world.”

He nodded slowly. “The spirit world of which you speak is likely different from our Arlathani lore, but I suspect that our stories share their bones. In any case, the striking figure from my dream was a spirit that I call the Shadow Goddess.” He narrowed his eyes and tried to remember the details of the elusive dream. “Hidden by a cloak of the deepest black, she walked the Fade along the southern tundra — weeping, lonely, and forgotten. More than that, I couldn’t tell; I woke before her story could unveil itself to me. But the essence of her tale still lingers in my mind: a loneliness so dark and deep that even light was chased away by her endless solitude.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Nare spoke. “Solas, that’s… so sad.”

Her voice was small and slightly breathless. When Solas met her eye, it was to find her looking very serious, but also somehow… on edge. Not nervous, not afraid, but still on edge somehow. 

“It was a very sad dream, yes,” he said softly. “You can see why I haven’t been able to bring myself to paint it yet.”

She nodded. “I can’t decide if I’d want to see it painted or not.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” he asked.

A tiny frown creased her brow. “If it meant you had to be that sad to paint it? I would never want you to be that sad.”

He smiled faintly. “I suppose you have a point. I should be grateful that I have not yet had the heart to paint the lonely Shadow Goddess.”

She nodded, then leaned forward a little bit. “Can you tell me another dream?”

“Certainly,” he said. “Let me try and recall another.” He stepped away from his desk and sat on the other end of the couch. “There was one dream I had — a dream inspired, in fact, by an article I read in an Elvhen history journal.”

“An article? Really?”

He nodded. “The article was about the ruins of ancient Arlathan. When finally I went to sleep, my sleeping mind was mired among the burning ruins of the ancient city.” He crossed his ankle over his knee. “Marble towers and arches stretched above my head, higher than the eye could see, but all of it grew black with ash: the burnt remains of a once-grand home, unable to stop its own demise.”

She nodded and let out a slow and slightly shaky exhale, and Solas frowned. “Nare, are you all right?” he said. Her expression was still serious, but she looked even more tense than before. Her knees were pressed together, and her fingers were clenched in the leather seat of his couch.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I, um… your dreams are always so sad.”

He studied her carefully as he replied. “This dream wasn’t sad, in fact. It was filled with rage.”

“Rage? Why?”

“It is commonly believed that ancient Arlathan was burned during the old wars between Arlathan and Tevinter,” he said. “But the article I read revealed the truth: the city had been burnt before those wars had even reached their heights — burnt from within by its own people.”

Her eyes widened with surprise, but Solas couldn't help but notice that the tips of her ears were pink, almost as though she was getting flushed. 

Curious now, he went on. “Rage was what defined my dream. The blackened ash that stained the stones and hid the beauty of old Arlathan: marks of rage, brought upon the city by its own forgotten people.” 

She inhaled slowly through her parted lips, and Solas’s own breath stalled in his chest as he watched her. She was shifting subtly on the couch, arching her spine and brushing her knees together in a distinctly restless way…

He suddenly realized what was going on.

Her tense posture on his couch. Her request to hear more of his dreams, and her shameless texted requests for voice memos. Her precious confession, saved in his phone, that ‘ _I really like your voice_ ’... 

The realization hit him like a thunderclap — an incredible, terrible, _maddening_ thunderclap. 

She was getting aroused.

She nibbled her lower lip — _Fenedhis_ , it wasn’t fair, _he_ wanted to be the one to nibble that lip — then she looked him in the eye. “Can you tell me another?” 

He stared at her, stunned with wonder. Nare was turned on by the sound of his voice. And by requesting more stories, she was shamelessly asking him to arouse her even more.

This was bad. He should say no. He ought to say no. He knew exactly how dangerous this was for them both, and it was his responsibility to say no. 

But that smug and foolish sense of pride was unfurling through his limbs again, taking control of his body and making him shift slightly closer to her on the couch. 

He lowered his voice. “I will tell you one last dream,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes please,” she breathed.

_Yes please._ Ah, to hear her say this in a much more intimate context — and with considerably fewer clothes between them…

He leaned back and draped his arm along the back of the couch. “This final dream I’ll share with you was about a garden,” he said quietly. “Flowers bloomed across a vast expanse, stretching far into the haze of a horizon that my eyes could not perceive. But these flowers were unlike any I have ever seen. And this, I admit, is why my hand has never given shape to this particular dream: the flowers in this garden were so strange and foreign that I couldn’t hope to replicate their likeness.”

He paused for a moment to study her. Her eyes were half-closed and her lips slightly parted, and a rush of nearly-vicious desire fanned through his body. The look on her face right now, this look of languorous and shameless desire: how many times had he imagined such a beautiful expression on her face? How many times had he imagined seeing her look like this while he stretched her arms above her head, while he dipped his fingers between her legs, while he whispered soft and heated words into her ear — not unlike what he was nearly doing now?

Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment, then lifted as she turned her head to look at him. “Please,” she said. “Can you tell me more?”

_Please._ Such a simple and innocent word, but in Nare’s husky voice, it sounded anything but innocent.

He hesitated before speaking, however. There was, in fact, more to this particular dream that he could tell her, but he knew he shouldn't. 

And for that reason, his contrary and lustful lips opened to tell her anyway. “At first, the garden was like any other: rich in colour and pleasing to the eye,” he said. “But as I waited in that garden, I discovered that those blooms were not just simple static flowers. With every breath that filled my lungs, the flowers seemed to pulse and sway. Their pulsing was… familiar somehow, like a song I had once known and had forgotten: the heartbeat of a foreign place, made familiar again by the whims of my sleeping mind.” He leaned toward her slightly and lowered his voice a little more. “I felt myself begin to wake, but I wasn’t ready to rise yet from that strange and familiar dream. I remained in that garden, feeling the pleasing floral beat as it swelled inside my chest, and when finally I woke…” He trailed off. This whole suggestive story was leading toward one conclusion, and it was a conclusion that he didn’t dare verbalize to her, not even with this misplaced cocky pride that had taken control of his tongue.

She gazed at him, her expression avid with curiosity and desire. “What happened when you woke up?” she asked.

He raised his eyebrows, and her eyes went _very_ wide. “You — did you, um…” Her eyes darted to the bulge at his crotch, and Solas felt himself throbbing as though his cock was summoned by the heat of her gaze. 

Her eyes returned to his face, and she swallowed hard before speaking again. “Did you have to take a shower when you woke up?” she whispered.

“I’m afraid so,” he said, very quietly.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh gods. Um, that’s…” She clenched her fingers on her thighs, then pressed her knuckles to her mouth, and Solas studied her _very_ obvious reaction with all the ravenous hunger of a wolf studying its mouth-watering prey. 

Nare closed her eyes, and for a long, delicious, endless minute, Solas stared at her while she dragged in a series of deep and tremulous breaths. Her knuckles were pressed to her lips as though to muffle herself, and her other hand was clenched on her thigh, and Solas _wished_ that he could push her hand away and replace it with his own. 

But he didn’t reach for her. He didn’t shift any closer to her on the couch. He stayed exactly where he was, still and unmoving with one arm draped casually along the back of the couch. For all that he craved her, for all the lust that was howling in his blood as he studied Nare’s arched spine and her fiery red hair that he longed to wrap his hands in, he couldn’t bring himself to touch her first. 

If she touched _him_ , however… 

_Fenedhis,_ he didn’t know what he would do. At this particular moment, he was fairly sure that the mere brush of her finger on his knee would be enough to make him pounce.

_I can’t,_ he thought desperately. With an enormous effort of will, he forced himself to stand. “Well, I hope that this meeting gives you enough guidance to try again with your study,” he said briskly. “And I will certainly email you about a time for us to meet at the studio for a lesson.”

She lowered her hand from her lips and looked at him, and he very nearly quailed. The look in her eyes, the sheer uninhibited lust and pleading in her beautiful face: her expression was exactly as he’d always imagined — no, it was better than he’d imagined. Both better and worse, if he was honest. The naked desire in her face was better than he’d imagined, because it was _real_ : it was real and true, tangible and visible proof that the way he felt for her was mutual and shared.

And it was worse than he’d imagined, because this incredible feeling was completely forbidden. 

She tilted her head pleadingly. “Solas, please…” 

_Please._ He couldn’t bear to hear this word from her, because it was exactly what he wanted to hear. 

He shook his head slightly — both for his own sake and hers. “That’s enough for now, Nare,” he said. “Come.” He made his way over to his office door and waited for her to rise. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, then exhaled heavily and stood up from the couch. She adjusted her purse on her shoulder as she joined him at the door, and when she reached for the doorknob, he was torn between relief and a very visceral sense of loss. 

She paused and looked up at him. “So I’ll… I’ll see you on Thursday morning, then?” she said breathlessly. “For our usual meeting?”

He smiled, genuinely amused despite his horrible desire. “You’re forgetting about our seminar this afternoon.”

Her jaw dropped, and she burst into laughter. “Oh no, I did!” she exclaimed. “We really are fated to keep forgetting about the seminar!”

He grinned and clasped his hands behind his back. “To date, _you_ have forgotten more often than I.”

“It’s not my fault!” she protested.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that _I’m_ to blame for your poor memory?”

She laughed again, then gave him a sly smile. “Not for my poor memory, no,” she said quietly. “For your sweet talking.”

He huffed, but her words gave him a little pang of guilt. Now that the worst of his prideful lust was starting to abate, the reasonable part of his mind was growing louder and clamouring at him for his _extremely_ irresponsible behaviour just now.

He bowed his head. “You are probably right. I should curb my tendency to talk at such length.”

To his delight and his deep dismay, she took a little step closer to him. “Or maybe I should try some sweet talking of my own,” she murmured.

His semi-calm cock instantly hardened once more, but he forced his expression to remain neutral. “I wouldn’t advise that,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked.

He gazed into her eyes: her bold and beautiful cerulean eyes, bright with laughter and mischief — provocative eyes to go along with her provocative smile… 

Provoked by Nare’s taunting, his barely-leashed sense of lustful pride reared its head once more. He took a step closer to her, and her eyes widened. 

Then he took another step closer to her still, and another, and then she was backed against the office door while Solas loomed over her. 

He placed one palm carefully on the door beside her head. “You know exactly why,” he said, very quietly.

She didn’t reply. Her eyes were huge and feverishly hot, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. _Beautiful,_ he thought dizzily. Nare was beautiful and lustful and brilliant, and most strange and unfathomable of all, she wanted _him_. But… _fenedhis_ , this was utterly and completely inadvisable, and they both knew it. 

She nervously licked her lips, and Solas’s gaze helplessly dropped to her mouth. She lifted her chin— 

Someone knocked on the door.

They both jumped, and Solas hastily stepped away from her. “Just a moment,” he called. “I’m finishing a meeting.”

“All right,” Abelas replied through the door. 

Solas exhaled through his pounding heart and looked at Nare. She was covering her mouth with both hands, and her eyes were huge. 

He gave her a reassuring look. “Be calm, Nare,” he whispered. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” 

She nodded and took a few slow breaths, and Solas carefully backed away from her. A tense moment later, she lowered her hands and gave him a sheepish but beautiful smile. “I’ll see you later,” she whispered. 

He nodded, then smoothed a hand over his scalp before gesturing politely at the door. Nare opened the door and smiled at Abelas as she stepped out of the office.

“Hi, Professor Abelas,” she said politely, and Solas felt a completely unreasonable rush of possessiveness. He was feeling jealous about Nare calling Abelas by his own title? He must be going mad. 

Abelas nodded to her. “Nare,” he greeted. He stepped into Solas’s office and held out an envelope. “Tamlen gave this to me by mistake.” 

“Ah,” Solas said. He took the envelope and carefully did _not_ watch Nare as she walked away. “Is that all?”

Abelas nodded briskly. “I’ll be leaving the office for an early lunch. I’ll go straight to my one o’clock meeting when I am finished.”

Solas raised his eyebrows, actually distracted by this surprising news. “You’re leaving the office for lunch? Is there a lecture happening somewhere?”

“No,” he said. “It is a working lunch. A last-minute arrangement.”

“Ah,” Solas said. “My condolences.” He was well aware of Abelas’s distaste for last-minute plans. “You couldn’t turn it down?”

“Apparently not,” Abelas said ruefully. “I will see you later.” He turned away to return to his office, and Solas closed his office door. 

He made his way over to his desk, then plopped down in his chair with a sigh and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He really must be going mad. Allowing himself to be provoked by Nare’s subtly arched spine and her soft little murmurs of _please_ , telling her tales about his dreams even though he knew that his voice was riling her up, pinning her against the door and staring at her lips like a mindless lustful fool… 

He rubbed his face, then straightened in his chair and clicked his mouse. He opened his documents and forced himself to concentrate on the article he’d been translating from Elvhen to common, but even as he worked on his translation, part of his mind was greedily running through his meeting with Nare, picking out the most deliciously suggestive things she’d said and done and storing them away for later when he was alone.

Her coquettish smile… _Solas, please_... The arch in her spine as she sat on his couch… _Maybe I should try some sweet talking of my own…_ The heated, feverish, pleading look in her eyes as he pinned her back against the door… 

He cock throbbed insistently in his pants. He sighed and ignored it, then went back to tapping away at his keyboard. 

Nare’s degree was going to be a _very_ long two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voice kink, anyone? 😏😂💦
> 
> Next chapter: Athera POV! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artist and creator of VixenNare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	16. Romance Is A Bonus Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shamelessly titled after my favourite Korean drama on Netflix. If anyone is looking for stress-free wholesome entertainment, _Romance Is A Bonus Book_ is my top recommendation. 
> 
> A quick note about Felassan’s voice, even though he’s not in this chapter: a beloved friend asked if I imagine a voice for him, and I do! My voice claim for him is Tom Hiddleston (check out [this Dumblr post](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/post/625739642458849280/im-curious-to-know-how-you-hear-felassans-voice) for some links). Imagine whatever voice you prefer, of course, but that’s who I have in mind! 😍😍😍

###  ATHERA 

Abelas was loosening up.

Okay, maybe ‘loosening up’ was a strong way to put it. ‘Not watching Athera’s every move like a hawk’ was probably more accurate. The changes in his behaviour were subtle, subtle enough that other people might not have noticed them. But Abelas was the person that Athera interacted with the most during her work days, and to her, his loosening up was very noticeable. 

One of the changes was the nature of his emails. He still emailed her every morning with the tasks he wanted done, but his second email of the morning — the one listing all the things she’d done wrong the day before — was growing shorter with every passing day. Yesterday, he hadn’t even sent her an email of corrections at all. She’d actually gone to his office to ask if he wanted any changes, thinking that perhaps he’d forgotten to email her — a laughable idea, really, imagine Abelas forgetting anything! — but to her surprise, his answer had been a simple ‘no’. 

It wasn’t just the emails that were improving, though. It was the hovering, too. He’d stopped hovering behind her and watching everything she did, which was nice. Sometimes he would still pause and watch for a moment when she was chatting with Tamlen or Solas or the girls, but when she looked over at him, he simply nodded and walked away instead of scowling at her. 

It was quite nice, really. She’d been working at the lab for almost a month now, and it was nice to feel like Abelas was _finally_ starting to trust her at her job.

Not that she cared in particular about his approval or anything like that. What mattered was that _she_ was pleased with her own work, and everyone else in the lab was happy too. So it didn’t really matter what Abelas thought. 

Still, it was nice not to feel like she was invading his space anymore. Not just not-invading, but almost welcome. He’d even smiled at her last Friday! She remembered it clearly, since it was such a rare event. She’d been in the kitchenette steeping a cup of tea, idly braiding a lock of her hair instead of scrolling around on Instagram since she was trying to limit her screentime while at work, and Abelas had come back from his Friday morning class. 

She smiled at him as he entered the lab. “Good morning! There’s coffee if you want it.”

He paused by the kitchenette door. “No, thank you,” he said. “I only drink coffee at seven and three o’clock.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? What if you’re really tired?”

“It is easy to avoid exhaustion if you stick to a regular sleep schedule,” he said.

She grinned. “Of course you have a regular sleep schedule.”

“Don’t you?” he asked.

 _Is that a personal question I hear?_ she thought cheekily, but she decided not to provoke him. It was a pleasant surprise that he was having a non-work conversation with her at all. “I try to,” she said. “But I usually don’t manage to get into bed until midnight, despite my best efforts.”

A tiny frown creased his brow. “Midnight? What time do you wake up?”

She made a little face. “Six-thirty, usually. I like to do a little yoga in the morning.”

“Midnight to six-thirty,” he mused. “That’s not enough sleep. No wonder you require additional cups of coffee during the day.”

She laughed. “Ouch. That’s rude.”

That was when it happened. That was when he smiled. His eyes locked onto hers — gods, those golden eyes of his really were unusual — and a tiny smile curved his lips. Before Athera could do more than blink at him like an idiot, he was walking away to his office, leaving her standing there with her half-braided hair in her hands and her cheeks getting stupidly warm for some reason. 

All right, fine, she knew the reason. It was because he was annoyingly good-looking. That was the only reason she was blushing over him. 

It was Tuesday morning now. She was in her office working on the proposal for the NAS, which Abelas had finally agreed to pending the department head’s approval, when a new email notification appeared at the corner of her screen.

It was from Abelas. She clicked over to her inbox.

> Tues Sept 22, 10:04 a.m.  
>  From: Abelas  
>  To: Athera
> 
> Athera,
> 
> There is an academic matter I would like to discuss with you. I would like to suggest a collegial lunch for this purpose. Tomorrow (Wednesday September 23) at 12:00 would work for my schedule. Please let me know if this suits you.
> 
> Abelas

She stared at the email in complete surprise. A collegial lunch? He was suggesting a collegial lunch? Like, to leave this office and go to lunch? With her?

She tapped out a quick reply.

> Tues Sept 22, 10:05 a.m.  
>  From: Athera  
>  To: Abelas
> 
> Hi Abelas! You mean to go out for lunch tomorrow, right? Actually out of the office?
> 
> — A 

> Tues Sept 22, 10:06 a.m.  
>  From: Abelas  
>  To: Athera  
>  Athera, 
> 
> That was my intended meaning, yes. Does that date and time suit you?
> 
> Abelas

> Tues Sept 22, 10:06 a.m.  
>  From: Athera  
>  To: Abelas
> 
> Sure, that would be great! I can do tomorrow at noon, but how about today if you’re not doing anything else?
> 
> — A 

She knew for a fact that he wasn’t doing anything at lunchtime today. She was familiar with his schedule by now, and besides, he never left the office during his lunch hour if he could help it. Whatever he wanted to discuss must be important.

His reply was slower this time, however; slow enough that Athera went back to working on the NAS proposal while she waited. A couple of minutes later, a notif popped up a the corner of her screen.

She tapped over to her emails again.

> Tues Sept 22, 10:10 a.m.  
>  From: Abelas  
>  To: Athera
> 
> Is there a problem with tomorrow?
> 
> Abelas

> Tues Sept 22, 10:10 a.m.  
>  From: Athera  
>  To: Abelas
> 
> Not a problem. Today just might be better because it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. It’s nice and sunny today, a perfect day for going out for lunch!
> 
> — A 

> Tues Sept 22, 10:12 a.m.  
>  From: Abelas  
>  To: Athera
> 
> I have a meeting at 13:00.
> 
> Abelas

> Tues Sept 22, 10:12 a.m.  
>  From: Athera  
>  To: Abelas
> 
> We’ll go for lunch early, then! We’ll beat the lunchtime crowds this way, too. How about 11:30a.m.?
> 
> — A

This time, his reply took so long that she’d half-forgotten that she was waiting for it by the time the notif appeared. When she read his reply, her eyebrows rose.

> Tues Sept 22, 10:23 a.m.  
>  From: Abelas  
>  To: Athera
> 
> Fine. We will go at 11:30 a.m.

She studied the email in consternation. He hadn’t even signed his name on this one. Was he mad at her? He couldn’t be _that_ mad; he’d still agreed to her suggested time. But why had it taken him so long to agree?

Then she realized something. Why were they having this whole conversation by email? His office was just next door. 

She snickered at her own stupidity, then smoothed her face into a professional expression before rising from her desk and going into the hall to knock on Abelas’s door.

“Enter,” he called. 

She stepped into his office. Yup, he was annoyed. He was frowning already, and when he looked up and saw that it was her, his frown deepened. 

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Athera. Is there a problem?”

She closed the door. “If you’d rather go for lunch tomorrow, we can go tomorrow. I really don’t mind either way.”

He pursed his lips into a thin line, then picked up his pen. “Today is fine. Is that all?”

She gave him a knowing look. “Seriously, Abelas, if there’s a problem, we can just go tomorrow.”

“There is no problem,” he said sharply.

“Clearly there is,” she retorted.

His frown deepened even further. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re being, um…” Damn it, she couldn’t think of a nicer way to say this. “You’re being cranky about it,” she finally said.

He recoiled slightly. “Cranky?”

 _Shoot,_ she thought glumly. Now he was probably going to uninvite her from having lunch with him. 

Oh well, she’d started saying this, so she might as well finish. “Yes, cranky,” she said. “If you have a problem with going today, just tell me.”

He sighed and put his pen down. “There is no problem. Your logic is sound; the weather is more favourable today.”

“You’re still not happy about going today, though,” she pressed.

He pursed his lips again. “If you must know, I am not fond of making last-minute changes to my schedule. I dislike being forced to rearrange my plans.”

She eyed him shrewdly. “But you came out for lunch with me last time at the last minute.”

“I was forcefully persuaded,” he said flatly.

“That’s not fair,” she protested. “You make it sound like I’m bullying you.”

“I did not say ‘bullied’,” he replied. “I said ‘forcefully persuaded’.”

“That sounds like academic jargon for ‘bullied’,” she retorted.

He folded his arms again. “I prefer to stick with ‘forcefully persuaded’. May I return to my work now, or would you prefer to continue arguing about the semantics of my word choice?”

She studied him carefully. His expression was stern, but he actually didn’t seem… angry? He looked pretty neutral, actually. Neutral for him, at least.

Wait. Was he bantering with her? 

She decided to test the waters. She clasped her hands behind her back. “What if I _did_ want to keep arguing about the semantics of your word choice?” she said slyly.

“Then that would be bullying,” he said.

She laughed. “That’s convenient. Are you going to call me a bully from now on whenever I argue with you?”

“Will calling you a bully convince you to leave my office?” he said dryly.

She tilted her head playfully. “Mm, no, I don’t think so.”

“Then it would be a futile action, so no.” He picked up his pen, then raised his eyebrows at her. “Is that all?”

She chuckled. “Fine, fine, I’m leaving. Eleven-thirty it is.” She opened his door and stepped out of his office, but just before she closed the door, she glanced at him. 

He was studying the document on his desk with his usual faint frown. He looked up at her, and one of his pale eyebrows rose. 

She flashed him a quick smile, then quickly closed the door. “Idiot,” she muttered to herself, and she returned to her desk. 

At eleven-thirty, Abelas appeared at her open door. “Are you ready?” 

She looked up from her screen, then jumped to her feet. “Yes, of course, let’s go!” She grabbed her coat and her purse, and a couple of minutes later, they were stepping out of the history building. 

She looked up at him with a smile. “So! Where are we going?”

“I leave the choice to you,” he said.

She shot him a wry look. “You know, usually the person who extends the lunch invitation is supposed to be the one who picks the lunch spot.”

He frowned slightly. “I have little familiarity with the restaurants in this area.”

Athera shook her head in amusement. “Well, if you really had nothing in mind, let’s go for dim sum. We can sneak in just before the lunch rush.” She started heading north, and Abelas fell into step beside her.

She looked up at him once more. “So when you’re at home, do you just eat smoothies and meal replacement bars too?”

He sighed. “Not always. I cook simple meals. When I’m especially busy, I will order in, but only when it’s necessary.”

“So you _do_ eat from restaurants, then,” she said. “Just not at lunchtime.”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Why would you think otherwise?”

 _Because eating restaurant food is fun, and you avoid fun,_ she thought, but that would sound way too mean. “I don’t know, really,” she said instead. “I just got the impression that you never ate foreign food.”

He gave her a chiding look. “I don’t dislike foreign food. I simply have little occasion to eat it.”

“Well then, we should go for lunch more often!” she said. “Make more occasions for you to eat different things! The range of restaurants in Val Royeaux is probably the best thing about living here. I could take or leave the city otherwise, but the food is so good.”

“Hm,” he murmured. He said nothing more, and Athera fished around for something else to say.

“You mentioned that you cook simple meals, then?” she said finally. “Like what?”

He gave her a slightly exasperated look, and she shrugged cheerfully. “Collegial small talk. You invited me for lunch, you brought this on yourself.”

He grunted. “I don’t cook anything of note. I didn’t learn to cook for myself until I left the military.”

“So what you’re saying is that you have the eating habits of a twenty-something-year-old guy,” she teased.

He lifted one eyebrow. “If that twenty-something-year-old man has the discipline and eating habits of a soldier, then yes.”

She blinked, genuinely curious now. “What do a soldier’s eating habits look like?”

He sighed again. “Eggs. Stir-fried vegetables and lean meats or tofu. Brown rice. Whole grain cereals. Trail mix.”

“Oh wow,” she said, impressed. “You really are healthy. I mean, that makes sense given the military training and stuff.”

He tilted his head in an equivocal gesture. “Perhaps I’ve overstated the habits of the average soldier. Many of my comrades indulged in various vices during their off time. I was one of the few who did not.”

She smiled. “You were too busy studying to party, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was.”

She nodded. This made sense. “I get the feeling that you like keeping yourself busy.”

He gave her an odd look. “What alternative is there?”

She shrugged. “Relaxing,” she said. “Hobbies. I mean, I know you work out, but aside from that…” She trailed off. Something just occurred to her. 

“You work from home after you leave the office, don’t you?” she asked.

He scowled. “I have no choice but to work from home sometimes. So does Solas, when our duties call for it. I am not the only one to do this.”

She eyed him carefully. His reply was oddly defensive. “Do you get hassled a lot for working too much?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

She pulled a little face. “I’m sorry, Abelas. I’m not trying to hassle you. I’m just curious, honestly.”

He pursed his lips and didn’t reply, and Athera desperately wracked her brain for something else to say.

To her surprise, Abelas spoke first. “I’m unaccustomed to this kind of curiosity.”

She let out a self-deprecating little laugh. “I know, I know, you think I’m too chatty.”

“It’s not that,” he said.

She looked up in surprise, and he shrugged. “Well, it is partly that. But…” He eyed her with a frown, but once again, he didn’t look angry; instead, he looked as though he was trying to figure her out.

She smiled awkwardly and ran her fingers through her hair. “It’s okay, you can tell me if you hate the chattiness. I can take it.”

“I don’t hate it,” Abelas said. 

She blinked, surprised yet again. “You don’t?”

“I am… unaccustomed to it,” he said slowly. “That does not mean I hate it.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “Do you have a hard time getting used to new things?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “What of it?”

 _Oops,_ she thought. it seemed that she had hit another nerve. “I’m not hassling you, I promise,” she assured him. “I’m just asking.”

He grunted again. “I have been told that I am inflexible,” he muttered.

Athera hesitated for a moment before answering. She wasn’t immediately sure what to say to this, because… well, it was true. He was pretty inflexible. But at the same time, it would be unfair to say he was incapable of changing his mind.

“You agree, I see,” he said flatly.

“Actually, I don’t,” she said. “Not entirely.”

He gave her a very skeptical look, and she grimaced. “Okay, fine, you’re kind of inflexible, but you come around eventually. I just think you need time sometimes to think things over when someone throws something new at you.” She perked up. “It’s scientific of you, really, if you think about it! When something changes, you just like to evaluate all the information about the change before you decide how to react to it. You just need time to think.”

He stared at her with raised eyebrows, and she pulled a little face. “What, am I totally off base?”

“I think… you are being generous,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He eyed her for a moment longer, then shook his head slightly and ran a hand over his snowy braid. “Are we nearly at the restaurant? I cannot be late for my meeting.”

“Yes, we’re almost there,” she said. “It’s just another minute away.” She picked up her pace slightly, and a couple of minutes later, they were settling in at a table.

The waiter brought them a pot of tea, a list of dim sum items, and a pencil, and Athera reached for the teapot. “You have first pick from the list,” she said. “I’ll go through it when you’re done.” She poured him a cup of tea, then poured some tea for herself. 

He peered at the list, and his eyebrows rose. “These items are… some of them sound Arlathani.”

“Do they?” she said brightly. “That’s interesting! Dim sum is usually associated with the Dalish. Different clans have different versions of dim sum, but this place has the most Free Marcher Dalish items out of any restaurant I’ve been to in Val Royeaux.”

He glanced around. “This is a Dalish restaurant?”

“Oh, well, no, not really,” she said. “It’s Antivan.”

He turned back to her with a raised brow. “We are having Dalish food at an Antivan restaurant?”

She smiled wryly. “Go figure, right? I’m just glad I can get Dalish-ish food anywhere, really. Some of the kitchen staff here must be Dalish, otherwise it wouldn't be so good.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell any Antivans that I said that, though.”

He huffed, and Athera’s belly flipped. Had she managed to make him smile again?

Not this time, it seemed; he was perusing the list and checking off a few items here and there. When he slid the list across the table to her, she was amused but not surprised to see that he’d selected items that were mostly steamed. 

_So healthy,_ she thought fondly. Or as healthy as an indulgent brunch of dim sum could be, really.

She marked a couple more items from the list, including some fried ones. The waiter soon came by to take their order, and once he was gone, Athera leaned her elbows on the table. “So what was the academic thing you wanted to discuss with me?”

“I read your undergraduate thesis,” he said.

Her heart lodged itself in her throat. “You — what?” she blurted. “You did? You read my thesis?”

“Yes, I did.”

She gaped at him wordlessly. Abelas had read her thesis? One of the top Arlathani historians in Thedas had read _her_ thesis? Sure, she’d picked on him for not reading it, but she hadn’t honestly expected him to read it after that. 

Her palms broke out in a sweat. Why was she suddenly feeling so nervous? “And what, um — how was — what did you think of it?” she asked.

“I took notes on it, if you would care to see them,” he said.

“I — notes? You took notes?” she said excitedly. “Yes, of course I want to see them!”

He nodded, then reached into his crisp leather messenger bag and pulled out a thick file folder, and Athera’s eyes widened. He’d printed her thesis and taken physical notes?

 _Of course he did,_ she thought in amusement. It was Abelas. Of course he’d taken notes the old-fashioned way. 

He handed over the file folder, and she eagerly flipped it open — and wilted a little. Creators, he’d made a lot of notes. 

She leafed through it, feeling more deflated by the moment as she skimmed his critical notes, then mustered a smile as she looked up at him. “It was this bad, huh?”

His eyebrows rose. “Bad? No. I was pleasantly surprised.”

“Huh?” she said blankly. “You were?”

“Yes,” he said. His eyes darted to the file in her hands. “Is that not clear?”

 _Clear from the sea of red annotations and corrections?_ she thought. She had to fight an urge to nervous-laugh as she replied. “I’ll have to look it over more carefully when we’re back at the office. But, um, it was — you thought it was okay?”

“It was very good for an undergraduate thesis from a scholar who was working with incomplete information,” he said.

She eyed him cautiously. “That sounds like an insult.”

His expression fell into a look of surprise. “An insult is not intended. Your ultimate conclusion about the purpose of the Well of Sorrows was incorrect, but that is not your fault. The conclusions you drew were perfectly logical based on the evidence you had access to.”

She laughed and leaned back in her chair. “So let me get this straight. My thesis was wrong, but it was still good?”

“Yes,” he said. “Such is the way of academia.”

His tone was uncharacteristically wry. She laughed again, both at the hint of humour in his voice and at the truth in his words. “You know what, I totally get what you mean by that. Being wrong just means more chances to push for the right answers, right?”

He nodded approvingly. “That is correct.”

At that moment, a waiter approached with the first couple of items from their list, and Athera quickly placed the file folder into her purse to make space on the table. Once the waiter was gone, she picked up her chopsticks. 

“Well, thanks for reading my thesis,” she said. She placed a pork-and-shrimp dumpling on his plate, then gave him a serious look. “Honestly, it means a lot to me that you read it.” 

“You need not thank me,” he said. “In fact, I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Sure! What is it?” She put two deep-fried squid tentacles on his plate, then took a dumpling and a tentacle for herself and began to eat.

“As you know, Solas and I are in the process of compiling a textbook on ancient Arlathani history — the first such text to be published in the common tongue,” Abelas said. He took a sip of tea and picked up his chopsticks. “We have been meaning to write an introductory chapter about the Vir’Abelasan for some time: a chapter to review the common beliefs and misconceptions about that historical site, and to review some of the most common theories about its purpose. Having read your thesis now, I feel that with some editing and modifications, it would serve this purpose well.”

She paused with a squid tentacle halfway to her mouth. “Wait. Hang on. Are you… what are you saying?”

“I am suggesting that with some editing, your thesis could be modified into an excellent introductory chapter for our textbook on Arlathani history.” Abelas picked up the dumpling and took a small bite, and Athera stared at him, all thoughts of food wiped away by a ringing disbelief.

Her thesis modified into an introductory chapter. Her thesis, in Abelas and Solas’s textbook. _Her_ thesis?

Abelas swallowed his bite of dumpling and raised his eyebrows. “Do you have any questions?”

Athera made a noise — a stupid noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Questions? I… you want _me_ to — you want _my_ thesis in a history textbook?” 

“A shortened version of it, yes,” he said. He picked up a squid tentacle and took a small bite, then chewed and swallowed before going on. “You would be credited as the author for that chapter, of course. Unfortunately, I cannot promise any recompense; the royalties will depend on how many copies are sold, but if we do make a profit, you will receive royalties for your chapter.”

“I would be an author for a textbook chapter?” she said faintly.

He gave her a careful look. “Of course. You wrote the chapter.” He eyed her largely-untouched plate. “You should eat. Your food will get cold.”

She stared dumbly at him. This was totally surreal. She was proud of her undergrad thesis, sure, but she’d never imagined it would be published anywhere in any form. And to be published in the first common-tongue textbook on Arlathani history — a textbook where she would be a co-author alongside Solas and Abelas, whose work she admired so much?

Damn, _damn it_ , she was going to cry. She put her chopsticks down and cleared her throat. “That’s, um…” Shoot, her voice sounded squeaky. She hastily patted her mouth with her napkin. “That sounds, um—” 

A tear escaped her eye. Oh gods, she was making an idiot of herself. She covered her now-burning cheeks with her hands. “I’m — Abelas, this is—” She broke off with a little hiccup.

Abelas, unsurprisingly, was staring at her with growing concern. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing!” she said hastily. “This is — _hiccup_ — oh gods. I’m so—” Another tear ran down her face, and she let out a shaky little laugh. 

Abelas half-stood from his chair. “Athera, are you—”

She waved for him to sit down. “I’m fine, I’m fine! I promise I’m fine, I’m just — I’m so excited!”

“Excited?” Abelas said. 

The waiter returned with two more of the items they’d ordered. Athera beamed at him, then began placing shrimp dumplings and a barbecued-pork bun onto Abelas’s plate. “Yes, excited! I never — this is such an honour, thank you!”

He slowly sat down. “So you are pleased about this.”

“Pleased!” she exclaimed. “I’m — gods, I’m thrilled! I didn’t even expect you to read my thesis, and now you’re saying it’s good enough to turn into a book chapter?”

“It will require some editing, but yes,” he said. “It is certainly good enough.”

“That’s so — Abelas, thank you. I’m so honoured.” She lowered her chopsticks and beamed at him. “Do you know what it means for a Dalish elf to have a book chapter published on Arlathani ancient history? It’s — gods, it’s — this is huge. My clan will be so proud. I can’t wait to tell Tamaris and Nare!”

“There is no need to thank me,” he said. “I should be thanking you. Your thesis is a very good summary of a great deal of information. You will be saving Solas and I considerable time.”

“Well, I’m thrilled to help in that way,” she said cheerfully. “I’m just — ah, this is amazing! Do you mind if I text the girls now to tell them the news?”

He raised his eyebrows. “If you wish. I didn’t realize this would be considered such unusual news.”

She wrinkled her nose playfully as she pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. “Spoken like someone who’s gotten used to being published all the time. For a small fry like me, this is huge news.” She tapped open her messaging app.

_Athera 12:07 p.m.  
OMG YOU GUYS I have huge news! Abelas wants to include my thesis as a chapter in the history book he and Solas are writing!!!_

She put her phone away, then beamed at Abelas and placed another dumpling on his plate. “So what kind of timeline—”

“Athera, that’s enough,” he interrupted.

She paused. “Huh? Enough what?”

“I have enough to eat, thank you,” he said. “You should eat something, as well.”

She looked at her plate. Sure enough, she still had the first round of squid tentacles and dumpling on her plate. In the meantime, she had totally loaded Abelas’s plate with food.

She laughed. “I’m so sorry. I got a little overzealous.” She took a big bite of fried cruller wrapped in rice roll, then picked up the teapot and refreshed his cup of tea. 

“May I ask…” He trailed off and rubbed his chin.

Athera raised her eyebrows. “What’s up?” she asked.

“This… serving food to me before serving yourself,” he said slowly. “You have done this during the entire meal. Both now and the last time we went for lunch.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said brightly. “Is that okay? I’m using the back end of my chopsticks to serve you, so your food isn’t contaminated, don’t worry.”

“It’s not a problem,” he said. “It’s… I am curious. Why do you do this?”

“Oh, just to be polite,” she said. “My mom always says to serve your guests before you serve yourself. I think I just take it to an extreme.” She let out a little laugh. “Whenever I go for Hercinian barbecue with Tamaris — you know, where you grill your own meat on the table? She always has to tell me to stop feeding her and to eat something.”

“I see,” he said. He sipped his tea.

She picked up her teacup. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity. Nothing more.” He took a bite of steamed pork bun.

“Honestly, if you find it annoying, I can stop,” she assured him.

“There’s no need to stop on my account,” he said. “I asked out of simple curiosity.”

She studied him quizzically. He looked strangely awkward. “Are you sure there isn’t something wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said. “Just a… cultural difference.”

She perked up with interest. “Ooh, what’s the difference?” She nibbled the edge of a soup-filled dumpling and carefully slurped out the soup before biting into the wrapper.

Abelas, meanwhile, was slowly sipping his tea. “In Arlathan, serving food to others can be a formal gesture for a host to their guests,” he said finally.

“Yeah, that’s the same as for the Dalish!” Athera said. “That’s what I’m doing. But to an extreme, I guess.”

He nodded and sipped his tea again, then set his cup on the table. “In a more private context, however, it can be taken as a sign of affection between romantic partners.”

Athera froze. A searing ripple of embarrassment prickled its way down her spine. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh gods. Oh Creators.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did it seem like I was flirting with you?”

He opened his mouth, but Athera frantically waved him off. “No, no, don’t answer that. Oh shit, I’m so embarrassed. Oh shit–” She covered her mouth again. Shit, _fuck_ , she’d just cursed in front of her colleague. 

Her face felt like it was going to melt off. “Shoot, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to swear!” she squeaked.

He held up a hand. “Athera—”

“Oh gods, Abelas, I’m so sorry,” she babbled. “I wasn’t trying to be inappropriate or anything. I can’t imagine what you think of me.”

“I think no less of you, I assure you,” he said.

She patted her hot cheeks. “I’m still sorry. I’ll try not to serve food to you anymore.”

“Athera, calm down,” he said firmly. “There is no need to stop.”

She stared at him. “Sorry?”

“If the gesture is a form of politeness for you, you don’t need to stop,” he said. “I mentioned the… romantic implication only because you asked.” He helped himself to a soup-filled dumpling, and Athera studied him in puzzlement. He was being awfully calm considering that she’d been accidentally hitting on him.

She finally picked up her own chopsticks. “Well, thanks for telling me,” she said. “I don’t want to make any social mistakes in front of you or Solas if I can help it.” She offered him a tentative smile. “It’s interesting to hear about modern Arlathani culture, too.”

He nodded. “I can understand why you would feel that way, considering that our work focuses so heavily on the past.”

“Yes, exactly,” she agreed. Without thinking, she picked up another dumpling and put it on his plate.

His eyes darted from the dumpling to her face, and Athera suddenly realized what she’d done. “Oh,” she said dumbly, and she burst into laughter.

Then Abelas smiled. And not just a tiny smile this time, but a full smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes with charming little crow’s feet.

Her belly swooped as though she was on a rollercoaster, and her cheeks went hot again. _Why_ did he have to be so handsome? Why? _Why?_

She giggled like an idiot. “Okay, I’m not doing anything else except eating for the next ten minutes,” she announced.

“That would probably be wise,” he said.

His golden eyes were warmer than she’d ever seen before. She grinned foolishly at him, then dropped her gaze to her plate and started devouring her food.

When Abelas’s plate was empty, he set his chopsticks down and folded his arms. “Since we are discussing modern Arlathani culture, I can think of a book that might be of interest to you. I’ll admit that the book is not entirely modern — it is nearly sixty years old, in fact, and it is only available in Elvhen. But many of the… traditions that are written about in this book are still held in some form today in Arlathan.”

She swallowed a bite of rice-rolled cruller. “Oh, that does sound interesting! What’s it called?”

“It is called _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ ,” he said. 

_Thenemathe de Asa’lathin…_ She wracked her brain to translate that, and when she figured it out, her belly did a little flip. 

_Thenemathe de Asa’lathin. ‘Awakening of Her Heart’?_ “But that sounds like…” She hesitated to say it, but Abelas confirmed her suspicion.

“Technically speaking, it is a romance novel,” he said. “But it is also a culturally important work. The writer was an anthropologist as well as a novelist, and the novel almost reads like an ethnography focusing on the courtship traditions of the time.”

She stared at him, the remains of her food forgotten once more. “You’re recommending a romance novel about Arlathani courtship practices from sixty years ago because it’s like an ethnography?”

“Yes,” he said. “Are you not interested?”

“I – no, I am!” she said hastily. “I’d be happy to read it. It’s just…” Privately, she couldn’t decide what was more charming: that he was recommending a romance novel to her, or that he was making it sound completely non-romantic by turning it into an academic study.

“It’s not what I’d have expected, that’s all,” she said finally.

His frown deepened. “In what way?”

She smiled. “In the you-reading-a-romance-novel way.”

He gave her a chiding look. “I bear no quarrel with romance novels. And as I mentioned, this one is particularly observant.”

She smiled mischievously and poured him one last cup of tea. “It’s okay, Abelas. You don’t have to defend yourself. If you want me to read your favourite romance novel, all you have to do is ask.”

He grunted. “You sound like Felassan.”

She giggled. “I can’t tell if you mean that in a good way or a bad way.”

“I suppose only time will tell,” he said dryly.

She shot him a grin and went back to finishing her lunch, and Abelas waved for the cheque before turning to face her again. “Speaking of Elvhen texts, have you had any difficulties with the texts I lent you?”

She perked up at the mention of his short story and poetry collections, which he’d lent her a week ago. “Oh, I’m glad you asked! To be totally honest, I think you were right about the poetry,” she said apologetically. “The metaphor combined with the Elvhen language is too far beyond me right now. But I’m halfway through the first story in your short story collection.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That is decent progress. I’m surprised you haven’t come to ask for translation help yet.”

“Maybe I’ve been using the Elvhen dictionary you lent me,” she said cheekily.

He huffed in amusement. “If that is the case, your determination is admirable.”

She smiled and picked up the last bite of her sweet egg-custard tart. “Seriously though, I might need your help soon. But I’m saving up all my questions so I only have to bother you like once a week.” She quirked her eyebrows mischievously. “Maybe I should set a weekly lunch appointment with you just to bug you with all my translation questions.”

To her surprise, he didn’t scoff. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, then nodded. “I would be agreeable to that.”

She double-taked at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” he said. “That is a good use of time. Furthermore, if your Elvhen proficiency increases, you can eventually take on some editorial duties in the lab.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you are interested, of course.”

“I — wow, really?” she said excitedly. “That’s — wow, thank you! That would be amazing!” She beamed at him. “This might be the best collegial lunch I’ve ever had.”

“I agree that it’s been satisfyingly productive,” he said.

She chuckled at his formality and finished off the last tender bite of custard tart. Abelas expensed their lunch to the department just like he’d done the last time, and a couple of minutes later, they stepped out of the restaurant into the lovely noontime sun. 

Athera smiled up at Abelas. “Which way are you heading? Back to the history building, or…?”

He shook his head. “I am heading to the literature department.”

“All right,” she said. “Well, I’ll see you later, then. Thanks for the lunch, and for the book chapter. I’m so…” She couldn’t help herself; she did a little hop. “Honestly, Abelas, I’m so excited!”

“I am well aware,” he said dryly.

She smirked at him. “I know that being published is no big deal for you at this point, but for me, this is huge. I never thought this would happen. It’s really exciting.”

His expression sobered. “Your thesis demonstrated a great deal of respect for my culture. I should apologize for not reading it sooner.”

“Oh, no worries, it’s fine,” she said easily. She really hadn’t expected him to read it. Now that he was going to include it in his book, he was more than forgiven. 

He seemed to disagree, however; his frown deepened. “It is not fine. I have thought about what you said before about disrespect, and you were right. Despite your… garrulousness, you bear an admirable studiousness that I cannot deny, and I have failed to acknowledge it since your arrival.” He bowed his head politely. “For that, I am sorry. _Del’dirthem, da’len._ ”

Creators, he was being so polite. She could feel her cheeks going hot again. She smiled shyly. “That’s really… _lanastem, hah’ren._ I appreciate that.”

He nodded and said nothing more, but he was still studying her in that quiet and serious way, and her heart was starting to pick up to a quick and nervous beat. 

She let out a little laugh and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Okay, well, I’d better get back.”

“You should,” he said. He checked his watch. “You will be late at this rate.”

 _And he’s back to being a stickler,_ she thought in amusement. She gave him a knowing look. “If I get back late, I’ll tell Solas it was your fault.”

He scoffed, then turned and walked away, and Athera grinned at his retreating back. With a happy little spring in her step, she headed back toward the lab. 

She pulled out her phone to find a flurry of messages from the girls.

_Nare 12:08 p.m.  
Athera that’s amazing! When did that happen?? Tell us more!_

_Nare 12:08 p.m.  
We should celebrate!_

_Tamaris 12:30 p.m.  
Oh shit yeah that’s awesome _

_Tamaris 12:30 p.m.  
We should definitely celebrate. I’ll make deep mushroom brownies for you_

_Nare 12:30 p.m.  
Maybe let’s not get Athera shitfaced on a worknight?? Bahaha!_

_Tamaris 12:30 p.m.  
You guys have no sense of adventure lol_

_Nare 12:30 p.m._  
😂😂😂

_Tamaris 12:31 p.m.  
Seriously though A this is great. Good for you. I’m going to Felassan’s tonight but I’ll come home early, you can tell us all the details then_

_Nare 12:31p.m.  
Going to Felassan’s, hm? Maybe YOU can tell us some details too_ 👀😂

_Tamaris 12:31 p.m.  
Nosy bitch_ 😜

_Nare 12:31p.m.  
Lol!!_

Athera grinned at their messages, then typed out a reply.

_Athera 12:51 p.m.  
Sorrysorry for delayed replies, we were having dim sum! Yes, let’s have a little tiny celebration tonight! Thanks for the brownie offer, Tam, but I think I’ll make a non-drugged cake instead_ 😆😘

_Nare 12:51 p.m.  
😂 yum! Did the lab girls take you for dim sum to celebrate?_

_Athera 12:51 p.m.  
No I went with Abelas! That’s when he told me he wanted to include my thesis!_

_Nare 12:52 p.m.  
Woah wait you went for lunch with Abelas? Again??_

_Athera 12:52 p.m.  
Yeah he invited me!_

_Nare 12:52 p.m.  
Solas said he never goes out for lunch! He must be really impressed with your thesis! That’s amazing!_

_Tamaris 12:52 p.m.  
Does this mean he’s not an asshole anymore_

_Nare 12:52 p.m.  
Tam!!! 😂_

_Tamaris 12:52 p.m.  
I’m just asking lol_

Athera barked out a laugh, but in truth, Tamaris’s question was a fair one. It wasn’t that long ago that Abelas had been acting like an ass and making her feel totally unwelcome in the lab. Now, however…

Well, he was still stern, and he still liked to have things done a particular way. But he was willing to bend if he was given some time, and he admitted when he was wrong without being a manchild about it. 

Even more curious, though, was the way he’d reacted when she was asking him silly personal questions about his eating habits. This time, he hadn’t seemed irritated by her personal questions so much as… perplexed, almost. 

_He said he was unaccustomed to curiosity,_ she thought. He clearly wasn’t used to people poking their noses into his business and trying to get to know him. 

_Well, I’ll keep trying,_ she thought determinedly. Especially if Abelas had unexpected interests like that romance novel he’d mentioned. Athera still thought it was funny that he’d recommended a romance novel to her, of all things.

It was kind of cute, actually. 

She discarded the vapid thought as soon as it came to her. He was just recommending the novel to her as a source of information, that was all.

She wondered what Felassan would think of Abelas’s recommendation. 

She scoffed at herself. _Who cares what Felassan thinks?_ she thought dismissively. He was a meddler, anyway. 

On the other hand, it would be kind of nice to get an Arlathani perspective on some stuff. Like the way Abelas had reacted to her putting food on his plate. If people from Arlathan saw it as a romantic thing to put food on each other’s plates, but she and Abelas _weren’t_ romantic but he still allowed her to put food on his plate, what did that mean? Did it mean anything? Maybe it meant nothing. Maybe he just thought she was being polite.

And maybe she was reading way too much into this because Abelas was so good-looking. 

A sudden memory popped into her mind: Abelas’s smile. His full-lipped, golden-eyed smile when she’d placed that last dumpling on his plate. 

Her heart did a giddy little flip. She rolled her eyes at herself, then typed out a reply to the girls.

_Athera 12:54 p.m.  
No Tam, he’s not an asshole anymore. You know who IS an asshole, though?_ 😉😂

_Tamaris 12:54 p.m.  
LOL shots fired. You’re not wrong though_

_Tamaris 12:54 p.m.  
I’ve got a client now, later~_

_Athera 12:54 p.m.  
See you guys later!_ 😘

She slid her phone back into her coat pocket and popped her earphones in. Then, with the cheerful strains of a pop song in her ears, Athera ran the rest of the way back to the lab. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s all keep our fingers crossed that Abelas doesn’t fall asleep at his meeting after having that big lunch. 😂
> 
> My fiance usually takes me for dim sum every year for my birthday in June but Big Rona put the brakes on that this year. If I can’t have dim sum, you bet your ass my babes will have it. 😎
> 
> Next chapter: Nare! And art from our beloved Elbenherz. HOLYYYYY ART. JUST YOU WAIT. 👀🙏
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [Elbenherz](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) is your artiste and creator of Vixen Nare! xoxo


	17. Interested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art. Open at your own discretion. 😉

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art. THE ART. GUYS. ELBENHERZ SPOILS US.
> 
> Also, there be smut ahead. 😂

###  NARE 

Nare placed a fresh cup of tea on the desk in her bedroom, then sat down and tapped on her trackpad to wake up her laptop screen. She took a sip of tea, then blew out a breath and started, for the third time, to read the article on her screen.

> Allegory was built into the very fabric of the anatomy theatre, which was originally a space designed as a locus not only of epistemological exposition but also of metaphorical unfolding, as was so abundantly evident in theatres like Val Royeaux and Qarinus. Wynne[1] postulated the architecture and spatial dynamics of the early anatomical theatre influenced not only the physical design of our contemporary medical theatres, but also the epistemology of how the body was perceived, ordered, and depicted.

She slumped in her desk chair and ran a hand over her braided hair. It was no good. She couldn’t focus, and the reason for her lack of focus was the very man who had assigned her this article to read.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Solas. He’d been responding more and more to her shameless flirting more as time went on, and every time he made a sly comment or sent her a provocative text, an electric thrill ripped through her body and left her feeling giddy. He was still deflecting her advances about half of the time, changing the subject when she flirted with him or responding to her flirts as though she’d said nothing out of the ordinary, but for some perverse reason, his honourable attempts to maintain a professional distance only made her want him more.

It was terrible, she knew. Her behaviour was terrible, and she was putting him in a horribly awkward position. But she _knew_ that Solas wanted her too, and that’s what made this so frustrating. If he hadn’t expressed any interest in her, if he’d rebuffed her completely and treated her like any other student, Nare couldn’t imagine that her feelings would be quite this intense. She’d still have a crush on him, of course — how could she not, when he was gorgeous and brilliant and witty? — but it would be just that and nothing more: just an innocent crush on a professor who had no interest in her.

But Solas _was_ interested. She’d known this from the first time they’d spoken at the campus bar. And if she needed any further proof of his interest, she only needed to remember what had happened in his office this morning.

A rush of heat flooded her body at the mere thought of this morning. Solas recounting his dreams, his lyrical words carried on that velvet-smooth voice of his… 

Her groin pulsed, and she restlessly pressed her knees together. She still couldn’t believe he’d talked to her like that — that he’d just sat beside her talking so calmly while she practically had a meltdown on his couch. He was so cool, so confident, just watching her and talking in that low and intimate voice while her panties got so slick and hot… 

He knew what he was doing. Nare was absolutely certain of that. Solas had known _exactly_ how much he was riling her up when he spoke to her in that calm and intimate way, and he’d done it anyway. He’d done this naughty thing, this _forbidden_ thing, and Nare was absolutely thrilled. If he was willing to toe the line of decency by essentially talking dirty to her in his office, then what other rules might he be willing to break?

The forbidden intimate talk wasn’t the only thing that was driving her crazy, though. It was also the fact that he hadn’t tried to _do_ anything once he got her riled up. He sat on the couch beside her, talked her into a lustful frenzy, then _stepped away from her._ He’d taken the time to make her incredibly horny, then he’d done nothing about it.

But then, _then_ , right before she left his office…

_Solas backing her against the door, his hand beside her head, his lips so close, close enough for her to breathe him in—_

Another vertiginous swoop of lust filled her belly, and she dragged in a desperate breath. She was so insanely attracted to him that she was starting to alarm herself.

She stood up abruptly and grabbed her phone, then went over to her bed. She flopped down on her back with a sigh, then tapped over to their texts. 

The most recent messages were from this afternoon after their seminar — a seminar during which he’d been totally professional, as though nothing of note had happened in his office just a couple of hours before. The fact that he was able to act so composed… Fuck, it was so _sexy_. Nare had spent most of the seminar fantasizing about Solas acting all composed and in control while he had her naked on her knees, and when the active discussion part of the seminar began, she’d had to scramble to find something semi-intelligent to say. Despite her frothing lust, she was still equally motivated to do well in her program and to make Solas proud that he’d picked her for his Master’s student, so she was determined not to let her near-obsessive fantasies get in the way of her work.

Her work ethic didn’t stop her from texting him once the seminar was done, however. Especially since she wouldn’t be seeing him again for two whole endless days.

_Nare 4:37 p.m.  
Thank you again for the meeting this morning, it was really helpful!_

_Solas 4:40 p.m.  
You’re very welcome. I hope my words will be helpful._

_Nare 4:40 p.m.  
They definitely will. I loved hearing about your dreams_

_Solas 4:40 p.m.  
Those were not the words I meant, Nare._

Nare took a deep breath and shifted restlessly on her bed. She could practically hear the humorous twist of his buttery voice.

She kept scrolling through their texts.

_Nare 4:40 p.m.  
I know_ 😉 _I’ll listen to your art advice, I promise_

_Solas 4:40 p.m.  
I never doubted it. You are a very good student._

_Fuck,_ she thought excitedly. There was no way he hadn’t meant that in a provocative way. Especially with the way his messages had started taking on these thrilling dominant-professor undertones — undertones that set Nare’s entire body to buzzing the second that she read them.

_Nare 4:41 p.m.  
I’ll try to be very good for you, professor_

_Solas 4:41 p.m.  
I’m glad to hear it. Have a good evening._

She smirked as she reread his abrupt final message. _Trying so hard to be impartial,_ she thought. She knew she shouldn't be so amused by his efforts at impartiality, and she knew she should feel guilty for provoking him. But in truth, she was enjoying this way too much to feel guilty about it.

Everything about this was so fucking enjoyable. Waiting breathlessly for his texts when they got into a bout of banter, provoking that sly little smile on his face when they were alone in his office, the low lilting sound of his voice when she listened to his voice memos at night with her fingers between her legs, being so red-hot desperate for Solas when the most she’d ever felt with anyone else was a lukewarm level of lust… She was enjoying it all so much, and nothing had even really _happened_ between them. 

It wasn’t just the sensual parts of their conversations that she was enjoying so much, though. It was every part of their exchanges, both in-person and by text. The more Nare learned about Solas, the more she found herself thinking of him at little moments during the day, and the more she wanted to know about him. When she made a cup of tea, she would think fondly about how much he disliked it. When she drew or painted, she would imagine his reaction when he saw her work. When she watched a movie, she would wonder if Solas had seen that movie and what he would think of it, and when she ate dinner with the girls, she would wonder if he was a carnivore like Tamaris or if he was a vegetarian or maybe even vegan like Nare herself. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about him. He excited her so much, both sexually and intellectually, and she wanted so badly to get to know him better on all fronts.

But right now, at this moment, lying on her bed with his provocative texts on her screen and her pulse throbbing between her legs, her thoughts were anything but intellectual.

Impatient and reckless with lust, she typed out a text.

_Nare 10:18 p.m.  
Solas, do you have a minute? _

_Nare 10:18 p.m.  
I have a question about the article you gave us for today’s seminar_

_Solas 10:18 p.m.  
Certainly. What is your question?_

Nare paused for a moment. She didn’t actually have a question, of course, considering that she hadn’t gotten past the first page.

She quickly thought back to what the seminar today was about, then cobbled together some kind of question based on what Solas had said in class.

_Nare 10:18 p.m.  
Is this author trying to say that art focusing on the body should always be realistic? _

_Solas 10:19 p.m.  
No, but I understand why you would be getting that impression. This author’s focus is photography that utilizes real anatomical specimens, so their bias will inevitably favour a realistic approach to art as opposed to a more abstract one. _

_Nare 10:19 p.m.  
But it feels like they’re suggesting that artists who focus on the body always need to collaborate with anatomists _

_Solas 10:19 p.m.  
I assume you’re referring to the concluding paragraph of the article?_

Was her bullshitting actually relevant to the article he’d assigned? That was lucky.

_Nare 10:19 p.m.  
Which part of the paragraph do you mean?_

_Solas 10:20 p.m.  
It is difficult to clarify via text. I genuinely admire your critical thinking about this, but I think this topic would be most easily discussed the next time we meet._

She sat up straight on her bed. He’d just given her the opening she was hoping for.

She hastily typed out a flurry of texts.

_Nare 10:20 p.m.  
If you have a spare second, can we talk about it now? I can call you_

_Nare 10:20 p.m.  
I know I’m being needy, I’m sorry, I just really want to understand_

_Nare 10:20 p.m.  
I’m worried that I might forget the point I’m trying to make by the time Thursday comes_

His reply took so long that Nare’s restless arousal started to get diluted by anxiety. Maybe she’d really pushed him too hard this time.

When his typing-ellipsis finally appeared once more on her phone, she nervously held her breath as she waited for his reply.

_Solas 10:23 p.m.  
The wisest course would be to wait until Thursday._

_That’s not a ‘no’,_ she thought with a fresh rush of hope. It was the opposite, in fact; in Nare’s opinion, his message was a clear implication that he _wanted_ to talk to her, but was trying to hold back.

‘Trying’ being the important word. She was fairly sure that all he needed was a firm nudge.

 _I’m a terrible person,_ she thought. And yet, her thumbs were flying across her keyboard.

_Nare 10:23 p.m.  
I won’t take up more than 2 minutes of your time, I promise_

_Nare 10:23 p.m.  
Please, professor?_

Another endless minute passed while she waited for his reply. When it finally appeared, her heart leapt into her throat.

_Solas 10:25 p.m.  
All right. 2 minutes, Nare._

_Yes,_ she thought excitedly. She leapt up from her bed and grabbed her earphones, then plugged them into her phone and lay down on her bed once more.

She tapped Solas’s name in her contacts. The phone started to ring, and Nare felt like her heart was vibrating in time with the ringing of the phone. One ring… She nibbled her lower lip nervously. A second ring… When was he going to pick up? A third ring…

She wiggled her toes nervously. On the fourth ring, Solas finally picked up.

“Nare?” he said.

Nare stopped breathing. She’d expected him to say ‘hello’. Hearing her name in his voice, so intimately close to her ear, was more than she’d bargained for. 

A dizzying rush of lust warmed her panties. She swallowed hard, then forced herself to speak. “Hi, Solas.”

“Hello,” he said. 

His voice had a wry twist to it. Gods, she loved when he sounded this way, like his witty sense of humour was hiding just behind the calm façade of his voice. 

A giddy smile burst across her face. “How’s your evening?” she said. 

“It was quite pleasant, thank you for asking,” he replied. There was a clear undertone of mirth in his voice now, and she couldn’t help herself; she laughed. 

“Pleasant until I interrupted it, you mean?” she teased.

“That is not what I said,” he replied.

“It’s what you’re thinking though, isn’t it?” she said playfully.

Solas huffed softly. “Perhaps you should go ahead and share your thoughts about this article.”

 _Fuck,_ she thought. She was supposed to have thoughts about this article, wasn’t she? That was her reason for getting him on the phone, after all. 

She scrambled for something semi-cogent to say. “You, um, you had — you mentioned something about the last paragraph?” 

“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “In the final paragraph, the author wrote the following.” There was a brief pause, and then, to Nare’s surprise and extreme delight, Solas began to read to her from the article.

“‘Neither art nor anatomy are exclusive domains, and we should be wary of simplification,’” he read. “‘I would like to conclude by suggesting that science, art and philosophy can no longer afford to be seen as separate disciplines in our quest to know the body and the mind, and thus to know ourselves.’” 

By the time he finished reading, Nare could hardly breathe. His gentle velvety voice, the modulated cadence of his speech, his Elvhen accent… It felt like his voice was trickling into her ears and straight into her blood, making her whole body feel hotter with every beat of her heart.

“Is that the paragraph you meant?” Solas asked.

“What?” she said stupidly.

“Your comment about artists collaborating with anatomists and doctors,” he said. “Is that the part of the article that bothered you?”

“Um. Um, yeah,” she stammered. “I — do you think collaborations are always needed?”

“It depends on the intention of the artist,” Solas said. “If the artist’s intent is to use anatomical realism to explore their understanding of self, or to derive some philosophical meaning from the corporeal form, then such collaborations can be useful.”

“But, um, you… you don’t think they’re necessary,” Nare said.

“Useful, certainly,” he said. “But necessary? No. Again, it depends on the intention of the artist.”

“Uh-huh,” she said vaguely. Gods, her whole body felt like it was throbbing. It felt like every word he said was spreading through her blood and intoxicating her with desire.

Solas was still talking. “Furthermore, the artist would need to take great care not to become so overwhelmed by the intricacies of medical knowledge that they forget their purpose.”

“What do you mean?” Nare said, eager to make him talk some more. 

Unfortunately, her eagerness backfired a bit. “Did you not read the section about neuroscience and art?” Solas asked.

“I… maybe I missed that part,” she hedged.

“Am I obliged to read that section to you as well?” Solas said ruefully.

“Yes,” Nare blurted. “I — I mean — yes, please.”

There was a brief pause. Then Solas sighed. “All right. On page 260, the author writes the following: ‘Another aspect that cannot be ignored is the very real attraction for the artist of access to sophisticated medical imaging technologies such as fMRI and electron microscopy. The impulse for artists to use technology to see ever more detailed descriptions of the body is nothing new; the challenge, I would suggest, is not to be led or seduced by the technology.’”

While Solas read the passage, Nare closed her eyes to focus on the sound of his voice. Her left hand was resting idly on her belly, but as Solas’s quiet voice filled her ears, her hand drifted lower over her belly and toward her leggings. 

Silently but shamelessly, she slid her hand into her panties. They were completely soaked and slippery, and when Nare pressed her finger into her folds, it was to find her clit swollen and wet, like it was begging to be petted.

She began to touch herself. Meanwhile, Solas was elaborating on the passage from the article. “Unfortunately, the author doesn’t expound any further on this point, but I believe it’s an important one to emphasize, especially given this context,” he said. “Modern medical imaging techniques can yield fascinating images of the human body that some would argue are, in themselves, works of art. But an artist who seeks to use those images cannot afford be seduced by their aesthetic beauty, or they will run the risk of losing the artistic goal that brought them to collaborate with medical professionals in the first place.”

“Mm-hmm,” Nare murmured, and she curled her hips toward her own hand. Having Solas’s voice in her ears, the caramel-smooth sound of his voice… gods, imagine if he was lying beside her right now, touching her the way she was touching herself while he talked in her ear about art and science and the way they overlapped… 

The fantasy sent a pulse of pleasure straight to her groin. Without quite meaning to, she let out a soft little gasp. 

She immediately clamped her lips shut, but it was too late. “Nare?” Solas said.

She stopped stroking her clit. “Uh-huh?” she said. Then she realized how breathless she sounded. Would Solas be able to tell?

There was a second of silence. “Are you all right?” he asked.

 _Fuck,_ she thought nervously. Could he hear her heavy breathing through the phone? “I’m fine,” she told him.

There was another brief pause. “You sound like you are exerting yourself,” he said.

 _Oh gods,_ she thought desperately. His voice was quiet and low as though he really was talking close to her ear, and it was too much for her to bear: she began tracing her finger around her clit once more. “I’m… no, I’m not,” she lied.

“Are you certain?” he replied wryly.

 _Oh gods. Oh fuck,_ she thought. The smug smoothness of his voice, the vibrant little twist of humour… 

He knew. Solas absolutely knew what she was doing. And he wasn’t disgusted with her for doing it. 

A fresh and dizzying wave of lust crashed through her body, making her more desperate than ever. “Please,” she begged. “Can you keep talking to me?”

She heard his soft inhale over the phone. When he exhaled, his sigh carried her name. “Nare…”

She arched her spine and rubbed her clit more firmly. “Please,” she breathed. “Please, Solas. Please keep, um… keep explaining the article to me.”

He huffed. “This article appears to be particularly confusing to you.”

She managed a tiny laugh. “Really confusing, yes.”

He chuckled, then sighed again. “All right. As I was saying, artists must take care to keep their artistic purpose in mind when utilizing medical knowledge or specimens in their art.”

She exhaled shakily and began sliding her finger from her clit down through her slippery cleft, imagining as she did that it was Solas’s elegant fingers touching her this way. “Uh-huh,” she said. “Go on.”

He went on. “Some artists can get so overwhelmed by the scope and complexity of medical knowledge that they end up losing sight of the message they’re attempting to convey.”

 _Fuck,_ his voice… the way he was talking, the seductive cadence of his voice: he might as well be explaining in detail the ways that he would fuck her. “Uh-huh,” she gasped, and she stroked herself with rising desperation. 

Solas kept talking in that low-pitched intimate voice. “The medium you choose, whether gouache or clay or a series of x-ray images, should not overwhelm the story your art was intended to tell. For many artists who use medical images as their medium, I personally feel that their work tends to lack in emotion because it is overwhelmed the intricacies of the medium itself.” He chuckled, and the sound of his mirth was almost enough to make her come. “Then again, my artistic style tends toward the abstract, particularly in my murals. So I, too, am biased, although in the opposite direction of the article’s author.”

“Mm,” Nare moaned. She was almost there; her climax was almost upon her, like the sun trying to peek over the horizon, and if Solas would only talk to her a little bit more…

Almost like he could hear her thoughts, he spoke again. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Nare?” he said.

 _Oh fuck,_ she thought deliriously. His voice held a hint of roughness that Nare had never heard before — almost like a hint of a growl. 

A mind-numbing rush of excitement pulsed between her legs, lifting her closer still to her peak. “Yes,” she gasped. 

“Yes, what?” he said.

Her lips fell open with longing. Fuck, oh gods, fuck, the way he sounded, so stern and bossy and in control —

“Y-yes, professor,” she blurted, and her climax burst.

The pleasure ripped through her limbs in a pulsing wave. She whimpered and gasped, then pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle herself, but she couldn’t completely muffle the pleasured moans that her climax was coaxing from her throat. 

She arched her spine with longing, and as the final tremors of pleasure ebbed away from her limbs, she slid her hand out of her panties and relaxed on the bed with a sigh.

She could hear Solas breathing through the phone. For a few long seconds, neither of them spoke, and as her heart rate began to slow, Nare began to feel a bit self-conscious. 

“Are you still there?” she said tentatively.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m still here.”

She let out a slow breath. His voice sounded normal again — no dominant-sounding growl. She was glad that he hadn’t hung up, but now that she’d… satisfied herself, she wasn’t sure what to say. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek. Then Solas finally spoke, and his voice was soft but calm. “If you are thinking about the balance of anatomical realism and emotion in _your_ work, I would say that you needn’t worry. You use realism very effectively to convey the emotions of your subjects. It is one of your strongest abilities, in my opinion.”

She smiled, more relieved by how normally he was acting than by his praise. “Thanks,” she said. “That’s really reassuring. But I love your anatomical studies, too.”

“Thank you,” he said. “But my anatomical studies can’t fairly be compared to your art.”

She blinked in surprise at this. It almost sounded like he was saying her paintings were better than his studies, which was ludicrous. “Your anatomical studies are so good, though,” she protested. “They’re so accurate.”

“They are technically good, yes,” he agreed. “But they aren’t intended to convey any particular message. They’re simply studies, and as I told you earlier, studies are—”

“For practicing and playing, I know,” Nare said.

“You _were_ listening, then,” he said dryly.

Nare chuckled. “I listen to everything you say, professor.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “I’m glad to hear it. In any case, my anatomical studies have been criticized by some as lacking in emotion.” He scoffed quietly. “A laughable criticism, as most of them were not intended to convey emotion in the first place.”

“I don’t think you’re lacking in emotion,” Nare said.

“No?” he said mildly.

“Definitely not. I think… sometimes it seems like you feel so much, and there’s so much that you’re holding back.”

There was another brief pause — a heavier-feeling one this time. “There are some things that must be held back,” Solas finally said.

“Why?” she asked.

He was quiet again for a long moment. When he finally did speak, his voice was soft and completely serious.

“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” Solas said.

For a dizzying, stunned second, Nare stopped breathing. This was the first time Solas was referring directly to their… their flirtation, or involvement, or whatever this was. But he thought he would hurt her? 

It wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t hurt her. She trusted him. It sounded naive, she knew, especially since they’d only known each other for a few weeks, but Nare trusted Solas completely. 

“You won’t hurt me,” she told him. “You _wouldn’t_ hurt me. I know you wouldn’t.” 

“My authority over you automatically means that I would be hurting you,” he said quietly. “You must understand that.”

“But it’s not — we can — it doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she said hurriedly. “If we just keep it quiet—”

“Nare—”

She interrupted him. “I won’t let this get in the way of my studies, Solas. I swear.”

“That is not the… _Your_ behaviour is not in question here,” he insisted. “Anything that has… happened has been my fault, not yours.”

“No,” she protested. “No, that’s — I texted you. _I_ called _you._ ”

“Nare, please,” he said.

He sounded so pleading that she forced herself to stop. She pressed her lips together, and for a long, tense moment, neither of them spoke. 

He finally broke the awkward silence. “I should let you go. You can text me if you need more assistance with the article.”

A little lump of disappointment dropped into her belly. “Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Solas,” she said. But she didn’t hang up. She couldn’t bear to be the one to end their call.

To her surprise, however, a few seconds ticked by, and Solas didn't hang up either. 

“Are you still there?” she finally said.

“Yes,” he said. “I am still here.” His voice was very soft and relaxed, and a fresh thrill of hope warmed her belly. 

She nervously licked her lips. “Do you want me to hang up?” she asked.

“That… would be wise,” Solas said.

She smiled giddily. “But you don’t _want_ to hang up yet?” 

He didn’t reply. Nare waited impatiently for him to speak again, but the only sound in her ears was his breathing – the soft tidal in-out-out of his breathing. But… hang on a second. His breathing… it sounded like it was getting a little heavier. Was he…? 

A fresh flood of heat roared through her abdomen. “Solas,” she breathed. “Are you…” She swallowed hard, then used his own innuendo from earlier. “You sound like you’re exerting yourself.”

He huffed a soft little laugh. “I assure you, I’m not.”

“Do you want to?” she said boldly.

He was silent, but Nare could still hear his tantalizing breathing through the phone. She lowered her voice. “You can if you want,” she said quietly. “ _I_ want you to.”

He released a soft sigh. “Nare…”

“Yes, professor?” she said coyly.

There was an audible inhale from his end, and Nare smiled. “You like when I call you ‘professor’, don’t you?”

He let out another husky little laugh and didn’t reply, but his lack of response only made her more desperate to hear his voice. “Please, professor,” she begged. “I want to hear you.”

He sighed, a bit more loudly this time. “I… I shouldn’t.”

 _That wasn’t a ‘no’,_ she thought eagerly. “I shouldn’t have, either,” she said. “Do it anyway. Please?”

He took an audibly deep breath. A few seconds later, Nare could hear the sound of rustling fabric through the phone.

She waited breathlessly with her heart pulsing in her throat. Then Solas sighed again — a more guttural sigh that made his activities _perfectly_ clear.

A dizzying rush of lust roared through her body. _Fuck, I want him so much,_ she thought desperately. Her groin was throbbing with heat, throbbing to be filled and soothed by Solas’s cock, and the thought that he was sitting in his apartment somewhere and stroking that cock that she wanted so fucking badly to fill her up… 

She slid her fingers into her wet panties once more. “I wish I could see you right now,” she murmured.

He released another breathy sigh, and she hastily spoke before he could say anything. “It’s okay,” she breathed. “I’m doing it too.” 

He groaned. “Do not make me imagine such things.”

“You wouldn’t have to imagine anything if I was beside you,” she replied recklessly.

He exhaled heavily. “Nare…”

She savoured the sound of her name in his lustful voice as she stroked her clit. “I wish I was beside you right now,” she whispered. “Or on top of you.”

“Or beneath me?” he said, to her surprise and delight. He sounded rough and guttural, and Nare’s pleasure pulsed hotly in her core, both at his words and his undeniably dominant tone. 

She petted her clit more quickly. “Yes, that,” she whined. “I want to be under you.”

Solas gasped, and Nare panted shamelessly into the phone as she touched herself. Her climax was rising more quickly and sharply than before, goaded and fuelled by the sound of Solas’s rhythmic heavy breathing, and a few frenzied, breathless seconds later, Nare came for the second time. 

She mewled with pleasure and thrust her hips toward her own hand. “Please, professor,” she begged. “I want you to fuck me.”

On the other end of the line, Solas made a sound — a gorgeous, breathy grunt of a sound that instantly seared itself into the most secret part of her memory. She imagined him emptying himself inside of her, filling her with the heated evidence of his lust, and she gasped and stroked her swollen clit as the fantasy lifted her rapture even higher. 

Solas grunted again, then let out a beautiful groan followed by a long deep inhale, and Nare shamelessly savoured his pleasured sounds as she rode through the thrumming waves of her own pleasure. 

When her climax had finally waned, she murmured softly into the phone. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”

He sounded so relaxed – almost lazy. “Do you… need to take a shower?” she asked coyly.

He huffed a tiny laugh. “I do, unfortunately.”

Gods, the mental image of Solas’s belly being spattered with his own come… “I wish I could lick you clean,” she whispered.

He let out a half-groan, half-sigh. “Nare, I am begging you. Please.”

She twisted restlessly on the bed — that groan-sigh noise he made was _not_ helping her feel any less horny — but she finally took mercy on him. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stop. And, um… I won’t bring this up on Thursday. I promise.”

He sighed again, but to her dismay, he sounded weary again. “You should not have to promise me anything,” he said. “I am the one who… It is my reassurances that you deserve.”

“You don’t need to reassure me,” she insisted. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Once again, he didn’t reply, but his silence felt ominous this time. As the seconds ticked by and her insane and reckless lust finally began to ebb away, her feeling of awkwardness started to grow.

She nervously licked her lips. “I’ll… I’ll see you on Thursday, then? Our usual time?”

“Yes,” he said. “Nine o’clock on Thursday.”

“Okay,” she said in a small voice. “I’ll, um, see you then.”

“I look forward to it,” Solas said softly.

Her heart swelled with relief and a little bit of hope. If he was actually looking forward to seeing her, even after the forbidden pleasure she’d lured him into… 

She rolled cozily onto her side. “Me too,” she murmured. “Goodnight, Solas. I hope you have inspiring dreams.”

“Thank you, Nare,” he murmured. “Sleep well.” 

She grinned to herself; she could hear the smile in his voice. She waited for the tone that would indicate he’d hung up, but when it didn’t come, her warm feeling of hope grew a little more. It felt significant somehow that Solas wasn’t the one who was hanging up first. 

_I knew he was interested,_ Nare thought happily. “Goodnight, professor,” she whispered, and she ended the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: let's write some SMUT  
> Also me: but let's make it INTELLECTUAL THO  
> 😂😂😂
> 
> Anyway, all the quotes from the article in this chapter are adapted from a real academic article, as follows: Ingham, K. (2010). Art and the theatre of mind and body: how contemporary arts practice is re-framing the anatomo-clinical theatre. _Journal of Anatomy,_ 216, 251-263. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your DIVINE SMUT ARTISTE is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) A quick note: I might not be posting these updates on Tumblr anymore because it takes too long to format them, so if you want to know about updates in a timely manner, I'd recommend subscribing here on AO3!
> 
> Next chapter: Felassan! And more smut! AND MORE EYE-POPPING ART!!!


	18. Slow Arrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this update took so long — ‘twas a crazy week! I hope this extra-long chapter plus smut will make up for it. ALSO, FELASSAN ART that I am looking at respectfully. ~~I’m lying. I want to ride him like a fucking halla.~~ 😂💦💦💦❤❤❤

###  FELASSAN 

Tamaris trailed her finger idly over the kitchen counter, then hopped up to sit on it. “So,” she said. “What are you cooking there? Smells good.”

Felassan smiled faintly at her. Despite her casual seat on his kitchen counter, she looked slightly tense — which he supposed he could understand, since this was only the third time she’d been to his apartment. 

When he’d brought her back here to finish watching _Blasto_ two weeks ago, she’d been quiet and tense enough that Felassan hadn’t bothered trying to kiss her again. Not that that was at all a bad thing; they’d watched the rest of the movie, talking and poking fun at the movie and at each other throughout, and Felassan had enjoyed watching her suspicious mask falling away just as much as he enjoyed watching the film itself. By the time the movie was over, Tamaris had shifted closer to him on the couch until she was pressed against his side.

Then she kissed him: one of those slow-starting, languorous kisses that swiftly grew ravenous, ravenous enough that Felassan responded in kind, pulling her onto his lap and greedily molding his fingers over the curves of her body through her jeans and her ludicrous Garrus Vakarian t-shirt. 

And then Tamaris had broken from his embrace and told him that she wanted to go home. Despite his foiled lust, he’d spotted the confusion and the wariness in her face as she put her leather jacket on, and he had no choice but to let her go even though he wanted her to stay. 

At least she wasn’t ghosting him anymore. She’d even texted him that same night to thank him for the drink, and now Felassan could rely on getting responses within a couple hours of texting her, if not right away.

In some ways, dating Tamaris was like trying to woo a feral cat. He had to approach her carefully, usually waiting for her to come to him rather than vice versa, and he had to be prepared to suffer a few scratches here and there. But after two weeks of seeing each other almost every other day, meeting up for drinks and dinner and going to the movies, and even to a comic-con this Saturday past, Felassan had spent enough time with Tamaris to know that it wasn’t in her nature to be cold and closed-off. 

The sarcasm, the bluntness and the no-bullshit-tolerance? Absolutely in her nature. Coldness, however? Not his _avise_. Her hard-won smiles were warm, and her laughter even more so. The discussions they had about the movies and TV shows they both enjoyed made it clear to him that she was deeply sympathetic. Any coldness she showed was exactly as he’d thought: a mask she used to protect herself, like an alleycat might hiss and bare its claws under threat.

Felassan still didn’t know what had happened for Tamaris to construct such a hardened mask for herself, but funnily enough, her opinion on TV shows and movies was giving him a hint. She was especially drawn to shows featuring male characters in their twenties who had family problems or mental illness, so Felassan was pretty certain that she was haunted by a similar man in her past — an ex-boyfriend, perhaps. 

If that was the case, he definitely needed to tread carefully, especially as there was a chance she might see _him_ that way when he eventually told her more of his own family history. But so far, the topic of their families hadn’t come up yet.

Which was probably telling in itself, but Felassan wasn’t too bothered. He was in no rush to talk about those things, not while he was busy enjoying their slow-growing closeness.

In any case, he was glad to have Tamaris back at his apartment again. He’d invited her for dinner without really expecting her to say yes, but he was pleased that she had. He took it as a sign that she was gradually growing more comfortable around him. 

Not quite comfortable enough to be totally at ease in his kitchen, though, if the wary look on her face was anything to go by.

“I’m making _coq au vin_ ,” he said. “It’s an Orlesian dish. A very boozy one. Here, try this.” He poured a glass of red wine, then handed it to her. 

She sipped it, then nodded. “It’s good.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “That’ll be the main flavour in the sauce.” He poured himself a glass, then poured the rest of the bottle into the pot of browned chicken and carrots on the stove.

She snorted a laugh. “You weren’t joking about boozy.”

“I never joke about booze,” he said blandly. “I take it very seriously.”

“Tell that to your preference for that nasty drink at the Neighbour’s House,” she taunted.

He grinned. “You’ll never stop teasing me about that drink, will you?”

“Not as long as you keep drinking it,” she replied.

“I think you like it,” he said complacently. “That’s the secret reason for your cruel taunting.”

“Sure, maybe if I was a five-year-old trying to get your attention,” she drawled.

He bowed his head politely. “If you want my attention, you have only to ask.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. By the way, I brought you something.” She slid off of the counter and went to the foyer, then came back with her purse. 

She sat on the kitchen counter again and rifled around in her purse, and Felassan watched her curiously. “You brought a gift? For me?”

“I guess you could call it a host gift, yeah, since I didn’t bring you anything to go with dinner.” She pulled out a small drawstring sachet and held it out to him. 

“It’s deep mushroom,” she explained. “Grown and dried by yours truly.”

He took it with a grin. “An illegal gift. My favourite kind.”

She snorted. “It’s only illegal in this bullshit country. It’s perfectly legal in most of the Free Marches and back home on the reserve.”

He chuckled. “I’m teasing, _avise_. This is a lovely gift. Should I add some to the stew?”

She smirked. “You could if you want to. I almost made deep mushroom brownies today, actually.”

He widened his eyes. “I’m disappointed that you didn’t. You could have brought some for me.”

She huffed in amusement. “Okay, next time. We could have deep mushroom brownies and watch _The Archdemon Rises 1_. You know the hallucinations part in the beginning—”

He interrupted her. “When the Hero drinks the joining juice?”

She barked out a laugh. “The joining juice! Yeah, exactly.”

Felassan nodded. “I know exactly what you’re getting at. Watching that part while high…” He let out a happy sigh. “Oh, the trip we shall take.”

“Exactly,” she said. She was still chuckling, and Felassan smiled helplessly at her. She was just so fucking lovely when she laughed.

He stepped closer to her and placed his hands on the counter on either side of her hips, and she quirked one eyebrow. “Can I help you?” she said wryly.

“You certainly can,” he said, and he lifted his chin invitingly. “Give me a kiss.”

Her plush lips curled in a smirk. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’re not leaving this counter,” he replied.

She scoffed. “Ooh, I’m so fucking scared.”

He chuckled at her rudeness, then stepped closer and gave her a charming smile. “Kiss me, _felasil’ain._ ”

She clicked her tongue in mock annoyance, then leaned down and kissed him on the lips. Her hand rose to cup his cheek, and Felassan languorously parted his lips to greet the heated exploration of her tongue… 

Then he heard the distinct hiss of the pot boiling over.

He broke from her lips. “ _Fenedhis_ ,” he swore, and he darted over to the stove and shifted the pot off of the heat. 

Tamaris snickered. “Is that part of the recipe?”

He shot her a grin as he stirred the contents of the pot. “You’re taunting the hand that’s feeding you?”

“Looks like it,” she said. 

Felassan tutted. “You are a minx. If anything in this pot is burnt, I’ll feed it to you.”

“That’s not fair,” she protested. “It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention to your cooking.”

“It is most certainly your fault,” he said.

“How do you figure?”

“Your lips are so delicious that I forgot I was cooking.”

She snorted and rubbed her nose. “I don’t know how you manage to say this shit with a straight face.”

He grinned as he slid the cast-iron pot into the stove. She might be insulting him, but the pinkening of her cheeks was very telling.

He closed the oven door and turned to face her again. “All right, we have about thirty minutes until this will be ready.”

“Okay,” she said. She sipped her wine, and he noted that she looked a little wary once more.

He sidled over to her and leaned casually against the counter. “To kill the time, why don’t you tell me how you designed your vallaslin?”

Her shoulders loosened visibly, even as she cocked her head. “I could ask _you_ the opposite. Why don’t you tell me why you Arlathani elves _don’t_ have vallaslin? That still weirds me out.”

He pulled a little face. He’d been waiting for this topic to come up again, but he knew she wasn’t going to be happy about the answer. “All right. Well, I assume you heard a few years ago when the Arlathani government admitted that there was slavery in ancient Arlathan, up until pretty recently – just a couple hundred years ago.”

Tamaris’s face hardened. “Yeah, I remember that.”

He nodded. “Society was strictly divided between the nobility and the slave class until the Storm Age. Every atrocity that the Dalish curse the humans for, elven nobles once committed upon elven servants.” 

“How is it possible that that only just came out like ten years ago?” she demanded.

He shot her a knowing look. “It was actively suppressed by the government. It only came to light because a handful of influential scholars and powerful figures in the government insisted on the truth coming out — including Solas, in fact.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement, and Felassan shrugged. “The country has been in a mess of negotiations ever since. Making reparations to the descendants of slaves, incorporating our true history into classroom curriculum, debating with those who fight actively against truth coming out…” He sighed. Thinking about the situation in Arlathan made him fucking tired.

She didn’t reply. When Felassan looked up at her, it was to find her looking very serious.

“Are you a descendent of slaves?” she asked. 

He raised his eyebrows, then huffed in amusement and lifted his glass to his lips. “I am, in fact. Is it that obvious?”

“You care a lot about this,” she said quietly. “It was a decent guess.”

“A correct guess, too.” He drained the last of his wine, then stepped away from the counter. “Would you like some more wine?”

“No, I’m okay,” she said. “But, um, I can roll you a joint of deep mushroom, if you’d like.”

“That’s kind of you,” he said. “I’ll gladly accept.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small case of rolling papers. Felassan placed his empty wine glass into the sink, then sidled back over to her and watched as she carefully rolled a tidy joint. 

She glanced at him. “Are you allowed to smoke in here?”

“No,” he said. “But I’ll open a window.” He crossed over to the kitchen window and opened it, then opened the balcony sliding door a crack for good measure. 

She tilted her head chidingly. “I don’t want you to get in trouble with your landlord.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I have ways of getting out of trouble.”

Her expression became even more skeptical. “Ways that will get you out of a smoking fine?”

He smiled and leaned back against the counter once more. “I am very mysterious and resourceful.”

“You are very full of shit,” she said flatly.

He bowed his head politely. “Thank you, Tamaris. I try my best.”

She huffed and pulled a lighter from her purse, and he fondly studied the focus in her expression as she rolled the joint carefully in her fingers to get an even burn. Once it was lit, she offered it to him.

He held up a hand to decline. “You first.”

She frowned. “Come on, I made it for you.”

“I insist,” he said.

She clicked her tongue, then took a small puff and released the smoke before holding the joint out to him once more.

He took the joint and took a drag, then released a series of smoke rings before smiling at her. “Delicious. I can taste your lips.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re such a rogue.” 

He smiled at her, then took a second leisurely drag before offering the joint to her. She took the joint, but she didn’t bring it to her lips right away; instead, to his surprise, she leaned into his shoulder.

He looked up at her quizzically. She didn’t usually touch him unless they were about to fool around. Or if she was smacking him for making a particularly bad joke. Was this a gesture of affection, then?

 _She really is softening up,_ he thought contentedly. Or maybe it was the deep mushroom. Either way, the implied affection made his heart flutter.

He experimentally leaned into her side, and when she didn’t move away, he smiled to himself. 

Tamaris inhaled from the joint, then held the joint down to his lips. “So, um. You were saying about vallaslin?”

 _Another sweet gesture,_ he thought. He inhaled from the joint, then released the smoke along with his reply. “That’s right. The reason I brought up our sordid past is that vallaslin had a different meaning in Arlathan than it did to the Dalish.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “What’s the meaning?”

He gazed at her seriously. “Vallaslin was a way for the nobles to mark their slaves.”

Her face went slack with dismay. “What?”

He nodded. “There is ample historical evidence proving it. It seems that different patterns of vallaslin were used to indicate which noble house the slave belonged to.”

She stared at him for another second, then sighed loudly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I wish that I was,” he said with genuine regret. “You can imagine the culture shock when I first met Merrill.”

Tamaris took a deep drag of the joint and didn’t reply, and Felassan waited a little morosely for her to respond.

She blew out a smoky breath. “For fuck’s sake. That’s…” She dragged her fingers through her hair. “That’s fucking bullshit.”

“I agree,” he said quietly. “And I am sorry to tell you this.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said sharply. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s… I mean, this doesn’t fucking change anything, really. _Our_ vallaslin isn’t fucking slave markings.”

“Merrill told me as much,” Felassan said carefully. “Dalish vallaslin is a mark of freedom and pride, from what I understand.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said belligerently. “But it’s more than that. People in the past believed that it helped them to commune with the spirit realm. It’s not just — it’s a big part of our fucking culture.”

“I know, _avise_ ,” he said softly.

“Why isn’t this common knowledge?” she burst out suddenly. “I mean, why am I only hearing this from you? If Solas’s fucking history classes are so popular, then—”

“This isn’t taught in the history classes,” Felassan said calmly. 

“Why fucking not?” she demanded.

“Imagine the social implications, particularly for the Dalish,” he said. “Imagine how this would make them feel, especially if it was twisted and passed on second-hand from some humanocentric news source. Particularly since the nature of our vallaslin was nothing like yours.”

“That’s not an excuse!” Tamaris retorted. “People should still have the truth, even if it sucks. Otherwise, you’re deciding for people what information they should be allowed to have. It’s…” She took a deep breath and looked away from him. 

He shifted slightly and curled his arm around her waist, and when she didn’t shy away from him, he was relieved. They passed the joint back and forth in silence for a moment. 

Then Tamaris narrowed her eyes at him. “Do _you_ approve of this? This… not-telling-the-truth bullshit?”

“I did,” he said honestly. “When we first arrived here and started having Dalish students, I believed it was for the best. Now, however…” He shrugged casually. “There’s a reason I’m only peripherally involved with the goings-on of the lab these days.”

“You must still approve of it in some way, though, if you’re not talking about vallaslin in your art history seminar,” she said. 

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove the spreading of this information,” he said. He plucked the joint from her fingers and took a drag from it.

“Then whose place is it?” she snapped.

He blew out a cloud of smoke. “Yours,” he said. “Nare’s. Athera’s. Merrill’s and Tamlen’s. As far as I’m concerned, the information affects the Dalish the most, so you should be the ones to decide on its spread and use.”

“It’s kind of hard to spread the information if we don’t have it,” she said sarcastically.

He gave her a chiding look, but she pressed on. “Come on, Felassan. If that’s really how you feel, then why don’t you do something about it? Why don’t you help us?”

“It’s complicated,” he said sharply. 

“Complicated in what way?” she said.

He shot her a hard look, but she didn’t quail. Her face was creased in its customary frown, but as Felassan stared into her eyes, he realized that she didn’t look angry anymore — just pensive. 

He took a deep breath to control his temper, then gave her a smile. “It is complicated in the special way that only occurs when you mix family and politics,” he said. Then he tilted his head mock-thoughtfully. “It kind of reminds me of mixing liquors. It seems like a good idea at the time, but then it’s fighting its way back out of your stomach and you’re thinking, ‘hm, maybe that wasn’t so wise after all’.”

Her frown fell into an expression of surprise. “Wait. So — wait. Are you and Solas related?”

“No,” Felassan said. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t family.” 

She didn’t reply. Her expression was melting into something very tender and understanding, and Felassan’s heart twisted at the softness in her gaze.

He chuckled and offered her the joint. “Well, now you know what we’re having for dinner. _Coq au vin_ with a side of political chit-chat. I apologize deeply for the bitter aftertaste.”

She took the joint from him. Then, to his surprise, she draped her arm around his neck. “I thought you liked bitter things,” she remarked.

Her arm around his neck was warm. It was almost like a lazy hug. Felassan leaned into her side and smirked at her. “I certainly am a fan of bitter things. Especially when they’re paired with sweet. Do you use bittersweet chocolate in your deep mushroom brownies?” 

“Of course,” she said. 

He gave her a sad little pout. “That makes me even sadder that you didn’t think to make them for me.”

She scoffed. “You’re such a brat.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said. 

She smirked and took another drag of the joint before holding it down to his lips, and he smiled up at her before taking a pull from it. As he was exhaling the smoke in a series of rings, the oven timer went off.

“Excuse me,” he said. He extracted himself from her arm and dropped a quick kiss on her knuckles before going to remove the pot from the oven. He turned off the oven and placed a loaf of fresh Orlesian baguette into the oven to keep warm, then worked on putting the finishing touches on the chicken stew. 

He carefully stirred a paste of flour and butter into the stew to thicken it, then added in some slightly-softened pearl onions and cremini mushrooms to the pot. He replaced the lid and set the burner to a simmer, and when he looked over at Tamaris again, it was to find her watching him with an uncharacteristically soft look on her face. 

As soon as he met her eye, she looked away and slid off of the counter. “I’ll set the table. Where are your plates and stuff?” 

He bit back a smile and showed her where to find the dishes and utensils. A few minutes later, he was ladling stew into her dish while she sliced the baguette and buttered pieces of it for them both.

He sat across from her and lifted his glass of wine. “ _Enansal’in._ ”

She smirked and tapped her glass to his, and they both started to eat. He watched surreptitiously as she popped a piece of chicken in her mouth, and when her eyebrows rose, he smiled. 

“How is it?” he asked. “The wine isn’t too strong, I hope?”

“No, not at all,” she said. “It’s…” She looked up at him, and the warmth in her face made his heart thump.

“This is really fucking good, Felassan,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “It’s my pleasure.”

They ate peacefully for a minute. Then Felassan tilted his head. “Tell me more about your practice of vallaslin, then. I know what Merrill told me years ago, but you are the only Dalish tattoo artist I’ve ever met.”

She eyed him cautiously. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he said. “Everything. You had mentioned before that it’s more involved than just a regular tattoo.”

She nodded slowly, then selected another piece of baguette to dip into her dish. “Well, I won’t do vallaslin on just anyone. I only do it for elves or elf-blooded people who actually give a fuck about our culture.”

“I do recall you mentioning that before,” he said. 

She nodded and swallowed her bite of bread. “When someone contacts me about it, the first thing I do is ask what their connection is to the Dalish. If they don’t have a family connection, then that’s the end of it. If there is a connection, then I tell them I only do vallaslin for people who are willing to pay for two appointments: one to learn about the history of vallaslin and why we still do it now, and also for me to basically interview them and learn who they are. The second appointment is for the actual vallaslin.” She cut a piece of chicken as she spoke. “They also have to agree that they don’t get control over the final design. The vallaslin design is mine. It’s whatever comes to me based on what they tell me about themselves, their connection to our culture, stuff like that.”

He eyed her in surprise, genuinely stunned by all of this — by how drastically different this was from the Arlathani history of vallaslin.

He raised an eyebrow. “When you say the design comes to you…”

She glanced at him as she chewed a bite of chicken. “Mhmm?”

“Do you believe in spirits?”

She raised her eyebrows and swallowed before speaking. “Do you guys have spirit lore in Arlathan too?”

“Yes,” he said, “but I’m not sure how different it is from Dalish lore. I asked because I was wondering if you believe that the spirits are… giving the tattoo designs to you, or something along those lines.”

She shrugged. “Nah. I’m too fucking skeptical to believe in spirits. But the idea of them is inspiring.”

“I agree,” he said. “The idea of spirits is what inspired my dichotomy series.” He nodded his chin at the living room wall. “Spirits embodying a virtue, and the twisted versions thereof.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh shit. How did I not realize that?”

“I didn’t mention it directly, for what it’s worth,” he said.

“That’s awesome,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the paintings for a moment, then scoffed and shook her head. “I still can’t believe your professors didn’t like them. What a bunch of fucking blind idiots.”

He smirked. “That’s kind of you to say.” 

She shot him a little smile, and they ate for a couple minutes more. When Felassan had finished his food, he set down his utensils and leaned back in his chair. “What does it take for you to reject someone who wants vallaslin?”

She looked up from her dish. “What do you mean?”

“You mentioned that they need to have a family connection to the Dalish,” he said. “How do you decide whether a connection is ‘connected enough’?”

She sat back and tilted her head. “Well, for me, there doesn’t have to be a blood connection. Some vallaslin artists demand a blood connection with someone Dalish, but I think that’s bullshit. I’ve done vallaslin on some city elves who married into a Dalish clan, people who get adopted into the clan with no Dalish relatives… There just needs to be some important emotional or historical connection.” She lifted one eyebrow. “I draw the line at doing vallaslin on humans, though, even if they’re marrying into the clan. It just doesn’t feel right to me, considering our history with humans. But who knows, maybe the right couple could change my mind about that.” She smirked and picked up her fork. “They’d have to be really fucking convincing, though.”

He studied her affectionately as she ate. She was such an unusual girl. Modern but with a traditional twist, rude but sympathetic, skeptical but hopeful at the same time… The more time he spent with her, the more he was struck by the notion that she was worth every minute he spent trying to get to know her.

She ate a piece of carrot, then looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re more than an artist, you know,” he said. “You’re a teacher and a lorekeeper as well.”

She recoiled slightly. “What? No. I’m just a stubborn bitch who doesn’t like humans trying to steal shit from my culture.”

Felassan chuckled, and Tamaris wrinkled her nose. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“You,” he said. “You are a marvelous dichotomy, _avise_. I really should paint a picture of you.”

Her ears went red. She _tsk_ ed and dropped her gaze back to her dish. “Don’t be fucking stupid. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’d like to. And I always do exactly what I feel like.”

“Uh-huh,” she said flatly. She took another big bite of chicken and mushrooms, and Felassan smiled at her and sipped his wine.

“Have I ever mentioned that I’ve thought about getting a tattoo?” he said.

She huffed. “You have not.”

“I have,” he said.

She gave him a skeptical look, and he raised his eyebrows. “I really have. I promise that I’m not just trying to impress you.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure,” he mused. “An arrow, maybe.”

She lifted one eyebrow. “An arrow.”

He smiled faintly. “You don’t know the meaning of my name, do you?”

Her skeptical expression softened. “No, actually.”

“For someone who is a Dalish lorekeeper and vallaslin artist, your Elvhen language skills are pretty abysmal,” he teased.

She burst out a laugh. “Fuck you. Athera teases me about the same thing.”

He chuckled and folded his arms. “My name means ‘slow arrow.’ It’s based off of an old Arlathani tale about Fen’Harel.” He gave her a playful smirk. “I know you Dalish have all sorts of scary stories about the Dread Wolf, but the Arlathani view of this legend is more complimentary. Or less one-dimensional, at least.”

She rested her elbows on the table. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Felassan folded his hands in his lap. “The story is this: there once was a village that was being preyed upon by a great beast. The villagers pled with Fen’Harel to aid them by killing the beast. When Fen’Harel arrived and laid eyes on the beast, he knew he couldn’t slay it. So instead of fighting the beast, he shot a single arrow into the sky. The village elders asked how the arrow would save them, to which Fen’Harel replied: ‘When did I say that I would save you?’”

Tamaris huffed. “Dick move.”

Felassan grinned and went on. “Fen’Harel left the village, and that very night, the great beast came and killed the elders and the warriors and the women. It stalked toward the children with its slavering jaws wide… and that is when Fen’Harel’s arrow fell from the sky into the great beast’s open maw, killing it outright.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows, and Felassan nodded sagely. “The children wept for their elders, and yet they still offered thanks to Fen’Harel, for he had done as they had asked: he had slain the great beast with his cunning, and with a slow arrow that the beast never saw coming.”

Tamaris studied him thoughtfully for a moment, then leaned back slowly and folded her arms. “You’re a good storyteller.”

“All artists are storytellers,” he said.

“Some are better storytellers than others,” she replied. 

Felassan bowed his head. “I agree with that completely.”

She eyed him pensively for a moment. “So do you see yourself as a slow arrow, then? Like a hidden weapon or something?”

“It is more the path of that slow arrow that resonates with me,” he said. He casually waved his hand. “The slow and convoluted path that seems to be going astray, but winds up in the right place in the end.”

Her frown deepened, but not like she was angry; she seemed to be carefully studying his face.

He smiled. “Are _you_ going to draw a picture of me now?”

She didn’t smile back. “I don’t know a lot about you, do I?” she said quietly.

Her words made something twist in his chest. She was right: there was still a lot about his life that he hadn’t told her. Not that that was a bad thing; there was much she had yet to reveal as well, and they had all the time in the world to unwrap themselves to each other. But hearing her say this, her acknowledgement that there was more to him than she knew: it touched him somehow in an unexpected way. 

She went on. “I mean, I know what you do and I know the things that interest you, but I don’t know…” She shrugged. “For example, I don’t know why you think you’re like a slow arrow.”

“You will,” he assured her. “Just as I’m sure I’ll learn more about you in time.” He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s what dating is for.”

“Hm,” she said.

He clapped his hands jovially. “So. What design would you make for this slow arrow?”

“Let me think about it,” she said seriously. 

He nodded graciously, and Tamaris went back to eating, but she looked preoccupied now. Felassan quietly sipped his wine and admired the thoughts flitting across her face, and when she finished her meal, he loaded the dishes into the sink to deal with later. 

When the table was cleared, Tamaris stood and folded her arms. “Do you have any fine-tipped drawing pens?” 

“Like the sort for ink drawings?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course,” he said. He went to his office and fetched her a pen.

She took the pen. “Here, come sit down,” she said. She sat on the couch and crossed her legs, and Felassan sat beside her.

She raised her eyebrows. “You’re left-handed, right?”

“That’s correct,” he said.

She held out her hand. “Then give me your right arm.”

He smiled as he held out his arm. “Are you going to give me a temporary tattoo?”

She gave him a tiny smile. “Something like that. Just playing with ideas.” She pushed his sleeve up above his elbow, then rested his arm on her folded knee and sat there staring at his bare forearm for a moment.

Felassan watched her patiently while she contemplated his arm. Then she looked up at him with a small frown. “This is just a first idea,” she warned. “When I know you better, the design might change.”

“Understood,” he said.

She looked down at his arm again and smoothed her fingers gently over the inside of his arm, and the delicacy of her touch sent a ripple of goosebumps down the back of his neck. She held the skin of his forearm taut with her left thumb, then started sketching on his skin in smooth, short strokes.

Her design began with three short vertical lines about an inch below the inside of his elbow. Then the lines veered to the left to circle around his arm. As the lines started moving around to the top of his arm, they started to overlap and intertwine.

“The three lines are supposed to be like… like the important areas of your life,” she murmured without looking up. “School, career, family, whatever. I could do more or less, depending on what you think is important.” 

He hummed a soft acknowledgement. Then Tamaris lifted the pen and looked him in the eye. “Lift your arm,” she said.

He did as he was told. She continued to swiftly sketch the lines around the diameter of his forearm, making them twist and meld together in a complex and chaotic-looking design until the tip of her pen came back to the inside of his arm. Then she did the same thing again so the three twisting lines were curled around his forearm in a spiral pattern.

She looked up at him again. “This could keep spiralling all the way down to your wrist, depending on how convoluted your life has been.”

He smiled. “When you’ve heard more of my life, I would leave the number of spirals to you to decide.”

She smiled faintly in return, then turned her attention back to his arm, and he watched as she drew the three twisting lines back to the inside of his forearm and down in a vertical line that ended where his wrist met his hand. She started sketching a stylized arrowhead, and Felassan studied her face as she worked.

Her expression was so serious. Her brow was creased in a frown, and her plump lips were pouted slightly with focus. It was obvious from her demeanour that she took her art seriously, and not for the first time, he couldn’t help but wonder why she scoffed at herself sometimes for being a tattoo artist when she was clearly so committed to the quality of her craft. 

She finished the stylized arrowhead, which was made up of a pattern of interlocking spikes and curls, then started drawing some stylized fletching at the back end of the arrow. Felassan watched her for a while longer, then spoke into the peaceful silence. 

“Do you miss your clan? The reserve?”

She paused and darted him a quick glance, then shrugged and went back to drawing on his arm. “Sometimes. I miss some things, some people. But…” She shrugged again, and her frown deepened. “There’s a reason I moved to Orlais with the girls, even though it’s fucking Orlais.”

He smiled at this. “I understand how you feel. There is something uniquely bittersweet about both loving and hating where you came from, isn’t there?”

She stopped drawing and looked up at him. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, there is.”

He nodded an acknowledgement. “It’s an uncomfortable push-and-pull sensation. Like being drawn toward a honeyed trap that makes you balk even as it plucks at your heartstrings.”

Her frown melted into a piercing and surprised sort of look, almost like she was seeing something in his face that she hadn’t noticed before. He gazed at her in silence, admiring the glittering lucidity of her emerald eyes, and as his heartbeat pulsed in his ears, he wondered what she was seeing in his face. 

Her gaze dropped to his lips before returning to his eyes. “The, um, design is pretty much done.”

He looked down at his right forearm: a three-branched arrow winding around his forearm, graced with an intricate arrowhead and delicate fletching.

He looked into her eyes once more — lovely forest-green eyes that were a mere few inches from his face. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

She wet her lips before speaking. “It’s… if it’s not exactly what you had in mind, I can come up with something else,” she said huskily. “I mean, that’s if you really wanted the tattoo, you obviously don’t have to—”

He cradled her neck in his palm, and she broke off with a tiny intake of breath. Felassan traced his thumb along the line of her jaw, then tilted her chin up. 

“It is exquisite, _avise_ ,” he whispered, and he kissed her. 

Her lips parted instantly, and Felassan firmly slanted his mouth over hers. He stroked her nape with his fingers and lapped gently at her lips, and when he slid his fingers into her hair the way she liked, she whimpered and nipped his lower lip. 

He nipped her lip in return, and she let out a breathy little sound of approval. He vaguely heard the sound of the drawing pen clattering to the floor, and a second later, Tamaris was twining her fingers in his shirt, plucking at the fabric as if to pull him closer. 

He scratched lightly at her scalp, and she broke their kiss with a moan. Her fingers slipped up to the top button of his shirt, and when she started unbuttoning his shirt, he smirked. 

“You’re like a cat, you know,” he murmured.

“Mm?” she mumbled, her fingers already working at the second button. 

“A cat,” he repeated. “All I have to do is scratch you…” He drew his fingertips in a gentle scratch along her scalp.

She arched her spine and gasped, and Felassan chuckled softly. “... and you purr like a happy cat.” 

She let out a breathy laugh and kept unbuttoning his shirt. “Fuck you.” 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not an insult,” he said. “It would be my honour and my pleasure to hear that rude voice of yours mewling for me.”

She scoffed. “You’d like that, would you?” she said, and she pushed open his unbuttoned shirt. 

“I would indeed,” he said. He had a host of other provocative comments sitting at the tip of his tongue, comments detailing exactly what he’d like to do with her, but he held them back for now; Tamaris was staring at his chest, his bare chest that she’d only seen once before, and his own desire ratcheted higher at the hungry look on her face. 

Her shameless gaze slid from his chest down over his abs to the bulge in his jeans, and Felassan waited with a mixture of anticipation and lazy enjoyment to see what she would do next. 

She palmed his pec, then smoothed her hand down over his abs, and his breath caught in his chest: her hand was warm and confident, moving lower over his body below his navel to trail over the waistband of his jeans. He instinctively lifted his hips, and Tamaris’s feverish gazed darted to his face before returning to the bulge between his legs. 

Then she suddenly molded her palm over his cock.

He burst out a gasp of surprise and jerked his hips. Then Tamaris was swiftly unbuttoning his jeans, unzipping his fly, peeling open his jeans… 

He panted eagerly, dizzied by the sudden haste with which she was stripping him, but as soon as his pants were open, she paused to stare at him once more. Her eyes were darting over his abs and the barely-veiled ridge of his cock, and the longer she stared at him without doing anything, the more he could feel himself throbbing for her touch.

He finally caved. “Tamaris,” he pleaded.

Her eyes darted to his face. “What?”

He reached out and slid his palm around the nape of her neck, then pulled her onto his lap so she was straddling him. With his hand still cradling her neck, he pulled her close, close enough that her lips were a breath away from his.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I may go up in flames,” he murmured.

“But I wasn’t doing anything,” she protested breathlessly.

“I know,” he whispered. “That’s the problem.” He kissed her and lifted his hips into hers, and when she moaned into his mouth, the sound of her pleasure hit the back of his tongue like a sip of fine wine. 

He thrust his hips toward her, wanting the sweet pressure of her body pressed to his, and when she tilted her hips down to grind against him, he groaned shamelessly into her mouth. The pressure of her groin rubbing against his cock was torturous, enough friction to make him want more without being nearly enough to satisfy, and Tamaris seemed to feel the same way; in the space of a few heartbeats, she was twisting her hips and digging her fingers into his abs and mewling against his lips like a cat in heat. 

Overcome with desire, he cradled her neck in both hands and broke their kiss to press his forehead to hers. “ _Isalan pala na_ ,” he panted. “I want you, _avise._ I want you so much.” 

She didn’t reply. Her breathing was short and shallow, a torrid breeze across his kiss-plumped lips, but when she leaned away from him slightly, his stomach dropped; he could see the hesitation in her face — a hesitation that he was starting to dread.

She dropped his gaze and nervously licked her lips. “I, um—” 

_No, please,_ he thought desperately. He didn’t want her to leave again, and not just because he was terribly horny. If he kept letting her leave, letting her walk away every time she got a little bit unnerved, he would never find out why she was holding back, and they would never move past this frustrating limbo of desire and doubt. 

“Tamaris, wait,” he said hastily. “We don’t have to have sex. Not if you don’t want to.”

“I _want_ to,” she said. But her expression didn’t match her words. She looked hesitant _and_ frustrated now, and it occurred to him that maybe she didn’t even know why she was holding back. 

“There is a part of you that doesn't want to,” he said quietly. “Not yet, at least.”

Her frown deepened, and Felassan quickly spoke again. “ _Avise_ , listen. This doesn’t need to be difficult or complicated. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, there is only one thing that this needs to be.”

“What’s that?” she said without looking at him.

“It needs to feel good,” he told her. “If it feels good, then let it happen. Don’t worry about what will come after. Just do what feels good.”

She drew a slow and shaky breath, but she didn’t make any moves to dismount him, and he relaxed a bit. “Does it feel good when I’m kissing you?” he said quietly.

“Yes,” she said.

He nodded. Then, slowly, he lifted his hips beneath her.

Her eyelids flickered slightly, a subtle sign of pleasure, and Felassan spoke again in a low and persuasive tone. “Does it feel good when you’re rubbing yourself against my cock?”

“Yes,” she said breathily. 

“Then that’s what you should do,” he told her. “Don’t worry about what isn’t happening or what might happen. Just focus on what’s happening now.”

She scoffed, even as she rolled her hips down to meet him. “What makes you such an expert?”

“I’m a godless hedonist who does exactly as I like, that’s what,” he said smoothly.

She burst out a laugh. Feeling triumphant now, he grinned and looped his palm around the back of her neck once more to pull her close.

Her lips parted as though she was expecting a kiss. But instead of kissing her, Felassan tilted her head to the side and brushed his lips over her silver-laden earlobe. 

“Would it feel good if I put my hand inside your shirt?” he murmured, and he dropped a whisper of a kiss on the side of her neck. 

Her breath caught on a pretty little gasp. “Uh-huh,” she whimpered. 

He hummed his satisfaction against the soft skin of her throat. Then, swiftly, he banded his arm around her waist and flipped her over so she was lying back on the couch with Felassan kneeling between her parted legs. 

Tamaris huffed in surprise, and when he began slowly gliding his hands up her body, pushing her top up in the process, she arched into his palms with a moan.

He smiled faintly at her eagerness, then brushed his thumbs teasingly beneath her bra. “If I licked your nipples, would that feel good?” he asked.

“Fuck _yes_ ,” she blurted. She clumsily pulled her shirt off, then started unbuckling her front-clasping bra, but Felassan grabbed her wrists. 

“Allow me,” he said. He lifted her hands above her head, then dipped his head low and licked the swell of her breast above her bra. 

She whimpered and twisted her hips beneath him, but he ignored the pleading cues of her body and kept caressing the silken skin of her chest with his lips and tongue, purposely avoiding her nipples until she was moaning. 

She strained against his grip on her wrists. “Felassan, come on!” she whined.

He lifted his mouth from her skin and smiled at her. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Not good enough,” she snapped. 

He chuckled. “Irritable. You must be horny.”

“Yeah, well, _you’re_ a tease,” she retorted. “Lick my nipple, come on!”

He _tsk_ ed playfully. “So demanding,” he said. He lowered his head and licked her nipple through her bra. 

She gasped and jolted, and Felassan gently nipped the bud of her nipple through the fabric of her bra until she was writhing wildly beneath him. By the time he shifted his attention to her other breast, she was panting and whimpering and writhing so wantonly that he thought his throbbing cock might burst from the sounds of her pleasure alone. 

He bit her nipple again, then lifted his face. “Would it feel good if I stroked your pussy?” he asked bluntly. 

“Yes!” she cried. 

“Then take off your pants for me,” he said roughly, and he released her wrists. “Take them off, _avise_.” His words were lacking finesse, he knew, but her obvious eagerness was fostering a similar eagerness in his blood, an eagerness that wouldn’t be satisfied by anything but the sight of Tamaris losing her inhibitions beneath his hands. 

She panted as she unbuttoned her jeans, and Felassan helped her to pull them off. She started pushing her panties down, but he stopped her. 

“Not these,” he said. “I quite like these.” He eyed her panties approvingly. The garment was made of dark orchid-purple lace, a pretty little thing, but what he liked the most about these panties was the dampness of her desire soaking through the lacy garment.

He pushed her thighs apart and brushed his fingertips over the damp fabric between her legs, and Tamaris bucked her hips. “F-fuck, fuck, please…” 

He grinned at her and continued petting her through her panties. “Did you just say ‘please’?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “So what?”

“I’m just surprised,” he said. 

“Surprised by what?” she snapped.

“That you can be polite,” he said. Then he pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and slid one finger inside of her.

She cried out and arched her spine, and a wave of sheer unmitigated _want_ rushed through his body. For a second he just stared shamelessly at her pussy, savouring the plumpness of her lust-slicked labia and the perfect sight of his finger sinking all the way inside of her to the knuckle.

He slowly withdrew his finger, and Tamaris sobbed and spread her legs wider. He slipped two fingers inside of her this time, and as he stroked her on the inside with a careful curl of his fingers, he stared at her with growing desperation. _Fenedhis_ , she was so wet and she smelled so good, a musky perfume that clearly spelled out her desire, and with every careful thrust of his fingers, his greedy hunger grew — a hunger that would only be sated by one delicious thing.

He curled his fingers inside of her. “Would it feel good if I licked you?” he said huskily.

She gasped and arched her spine. “Depends,” she whimpered. “Are you only going to lick me through my fucking underwear?”

He burst out a laugh. Even in the throes of her lust, she was still so mouthy and blunt. “No, _avise_ ,” he assured her. “I promise that I will kiss your pussy with the same devotion as I would kiss your delicious lips.”

“Okay, okay, then yes,” she panted. “Yes, yes, I want you to— ah, _fuck!_ ” She arched her spine and moaned loudly, and with good reason; Felassan was stroking her slick flesh with long languid laps of his tongue.

He carefully drew the flat of his tongue up along the length of her cleft. She was so fucking slick and wet, and her flavour was just as deliciously earthy and appealing as her scent. He hungrily lapped at her until her flavour was filling his mouth, then sealed his lips over her perfect little clit in an open-mouthed kiss. 

She sobbed and thrust her hips toward his mouth, and he braced his palms on her inner thighs and carefully kissed her clit, teasing the little bud with his tongue and lips until she reached down and slid her fingers into his hair.

“Felassan,” she mewled.

Ah, the sound of his name in her breathy voice: he hadn’t heard anything so sweet in years. He briefly lifted his mouth from her delicious flesh. “Yes, Tamaris?”

She moaned and bucked her hips. “Please, please don’t stop, _fuck_...”

He smirked and dropped his lips between her legs once more, and her fingers tightened in his hair. In the space of a few frenzied heartbeats, she was gasping and whimpering, and then she suddenly cried out in rapture and clawed her own belly. 

Her fingertips pressed into his scalp, and Felassan followed the implicit guidance of her hand and continued to lick her as she shuddered rapturously beneath him. Only when her shuddering had settled did he lift his lips from the apex of her thighs. 

He wiped his mouth on the inside of her thigh, then released the crotch of her panties and sat back on his heels to admire her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing hard through her parted lips, and her golden skin was charmingly flushed with pleasure. 

She was exquisite — absolutely, utterly exquisite, and he was so besotted with her that it was almost embarrassing. 

“So?” he said. “Did that feel good?”

She opened her eyes. A huge smile bloomed across her face, and when she started to laugh, he felt her mirth like a vibration of pleasure in his chest. 

She pushed herself upright. “Sit back,” she said. 

He obediently sat back on the couch and folded his hands politely over his bare abs. “What now? Should we watch a movie?”

“No fucking way,” she said, and she dropped to her knees between his legs. 

A fresh spike of excitement jolted through his groin. When Tamaris leaned forward and kissed his belly, his cock pulsed toward her. 

He exhaled sharply, then dragged in a gasp: her fingers were curling into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulling them down, and as soon as his cock sprang free of the fabric, she started nuzzling him.

He moaned and pressed his hips toward her. She was brushing her cheek along the length of his cock and teasing the head with her lips, and he was already so desperate that he thought he might burst the moment she took him into her mouth. 

She curled her fingers around his cock and nuzzled his balls, and a guttural groan escaped him. “Tamaris, _sathan…_ ” 

She pumped his cock in her fist, sending a burst of pleasure through his body, then took him in her mouth, and he groaned rapturously the sudden hot embrace of her mouth. She rose onto her knees and angled her head to take him deeper, and Felassan gasped fitfully as his cock slid farther into the blissful heated depths of her throat. Her lips rose and fell in a careful rhythm along his length, and he stared deliriously at her perfect plump lips as they slid up and down the length of his cock.

He reached down and squeezed her shoulder, then slid his palm up to cradle the back of her neck, and her fingers tensed on his thighs. She sucked him a little more quickly, a little more hungrily, and the telltale sign of her eagerness was like a catalyst for his own desire, making his pleasure rise higher and faster along with the rise and fall of her mouth on his cock.

She caressed his balls, and another bolt of pleasure surged through his abdomen. He tightened his fingers on the back of her neck, and she suckled him more quickly still, and in the space of a breathless, pleasure-blinded minute, his climax was surging through his body and spilling into the heated welcome of Tamaris’s eager throat.

His orgasm eventually began to ebb away, and Tamaris lifted her mouth from his cock. She squeezed his shaft, and one last tiny burst of ecstasy spattered on his belly. 

He dragged in a breath, then let it out in a contented sigh. Then Tamaris leaned forward and licked the last drops of come from his belly. 

He chuckled and stroked her curly hair. “Did I not feed you well enough at dinner, _avise?_ ”

She scoffed and propped her elbow on his thigh. “Oh, you fed me, all right.” 

He laughed delightedly at her innuendo, and the warmth of her answering smile lifted his heart even more. He gazed fondly at her, admiring the relaxation in her face and her lounging posture between his legs, but the longer he gazed at her, the more he could see her inhibitions creeping back in, painting over her relaxed pleasure with a complex mixture of uncertainty and caution.

She dropped his gaze. “Um, I should… I have to go.”

His heart dropped, but he kept his tone light when he replied. “Early client in the morning?”

“No,” she said. “I told the girls I’d come back a little early so we could celebrate Athera’s new book chapter.” She stood up and started getting dressed, and Felassan eyed her in surprise.

“Book chapter?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Your buddy Abelas is including her thesis as a chapter in the book he and Solas are publishing.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. Well, this was interesting news — very interesting indeed. “Is he now? How exciting for Athera.”

“Yeah,” Tamaris agreed. “She’s thrilled, as you can imagine, so we’re going to have a little celebration.”

Felassan grinned. “A celebration without deep mushroom brownies. Now I understand.”

She smirked at him. “Work nights, you know how it is.” She put her top back on and ruffled her hair, then went to the kitchen to pick up her purse from the counter, and he watched her a little wistfully as he rose from the couch and zipped up his pants. 

She turned to face him with an awkward little smile, and he kept his posture casual as he sauntered over to her. “Would you care for an escort home?” he said.

“No, I’m good,” she said. “If anyone harasses me, I’ll just stab them with my housekeys.”

He snorted in amusement. “You could get arrested for that.” 

Her eyes widened. “Even if it’s self-defense?”

He nodded, and she slumped in exasperation. “Are you fucking kidding me? This country is ridiculous.” 

He laughed, then impulsively cupped her face in his hands. “ _You_ are ridiculous,” he said, and he kissed her on the lips. 

She kissed him back, then pinched his butt, and he released her with a little yelp of surprise. “Hey!” 

“ _You’re_ ridiculous,” she said. “I’ll text you when I get home.” She headed for the door.

He followed her to the door and waited for her to put on her boots, then politely opened the door for her. She shot him a quick smile and stepped through the door, but Felassan hastily grabbed her wrist before she could fully leave. 

“ _Avise_ ,” he said.

She turned back to him with her eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Kiss me,” he said. He gave her a winning smile. “One last fiery kiss for this slow arrow.”

A plethora of emotions flashed across her face: a brilliant smile followed by a flash of uncertainty, then finally a sarcastic little twist of a smirk. “You’re so full of shit,” she said, but she leaned in anyway and kissed him. 

The kiss was sweet but far too short, and then she was walking down the hall toward the elevator while Felassan watched her departing back. She hit the elevator button and glanced back down the hall at him, and he gave her a mocking little half-bow.

She grinned and gave him the finger, then disappeared into the elevator, and Felassan retreated back into his apartment with a slightly heavy heart. 

He mentally shook off his disappointment. _Nothing to mope about here,_ he thought. This was progress, after all. Tamaris hadn’t left him the second things started getting intimate, and at least she had an actual reason for leaving this time. 

He went to the kitchen to deal with the dishes. As he cleaned the cast-iron pot, he reminded himself that he just had to be patient. He just had to wait, taking his disappointments in stride and waiting for his lucky chances, and everything would sort itself out in time. 

That was the Way of the Slow Arrow, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen phrases, from FenxShiral: 
> 
> \- _Felasil’ain_ : adorable idiot.  
> \- _Ir isalan pala na_ : I want to fuck you.  
> \- _Sathan_ : please.
> 
> Next chapter, hopefully very soon: Tamaris, and some giiiiirl talk. 😘💁🏻♀️
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your KILLER artiste is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	19. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, we exceed 100k words! And no one has even had full sex yet! 😂😅🙈🙃 I am really bad at predicting how long my fics will be, but I think it’s safe to say this’ll be at least 200k words, for what that’s worth to anyone.
> 
> Anyway, girl talk and Felamaris sexting. Enjoy! 😘

###  TAMARIS 

_Idiot,_ she thought to herself. _Stupid fucking idiot._

She trudged through the lobby of Felassan’s building and stepped outside, then took a big gulp of cool nighttime air before heading in the direction of home. She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved that she had a legitimate excuse to leave Felassan’s place, or to be pissed at herself for being such a chicken shit and leaving yet again as soon as he started being sweet. 

Oh, who was she kidding? She was definitely pissed at herself. Felassan was so incredibly _fuckable_ , lounging there half-naked on the couch looking like a wet dream come true, and Tamaris _hadn’t_ taken advantage of the opportunity to fuck him. Of course she was pissed at herself.

She didn’t understand her own mind. This should have been easy. She was trying to follow his advice to stay in the moment and just enjoy herself, and for the most part, she was. Felassan was funny and fun, interesting and clever and stunningly insightful at times when she least expected it, and the vast majority of the time when they were together, she really was having a great time. And in the moments when their teasing and talking turned to pursuits that were more torrid… Gods, Felassan was just so tempting. He was gorgeous and patient and gloriously hedonistic, and Tamaris was undeniably horny for him. 

But there was a deep-seated caution in her chest that had been living there for years, digging its roots into her heart and feeding on her bitterness while feeding it in turn, and that same caution kept making her shy away from Felassan when he got too close.

She tucked her earphones into her ears and turned on her music, and as she made her way home, she brooded over her own inhibitions. Maybe if she could figure out what exactly she was so fucking scared of, she could get over it and just _enjoy_ being with Felassan without the anxiety. 

One of her reasons for skipping out on him was that she wasn’t sure what would happen _after_ they had sex. It had been so long since Tamaris had stuck around for the ‘after’ part. Hell, it had been ages since she had even _wanted_ to do the ‘after’ part with anyone, with the pillow talk and the tenderness and all that vulnerability that made her instinctively want to cringe away. 

But no other guy in the recent past had made her want to stick around for the ‘after’ part. And really, this was what threw her off about Felassan: the fact that he was so different, and that she felt so differently about him. Other guys were forgettable, nothing special, easy come (literally) and easy go. But Felassan…

Felassan was different. He’d taken residence in her thoughts, sneaking his way past her barriers with his bullshit charm and his startling introspection and his irrepressible smile. He was luring her out of the apartment with his fun little date invitations, luring her out of her comfortable bitterness with his dumb jokey texts, and Tamaris liked it. 

Fuck, she liked him. _Really_ liked him, more than she’d liked anyone in… shit, maybe more than she’d even liked Perron at the beginning. And this scared the shit out of her. 

She sighed and turned up her music, then figured she should probably text the girls to let them know she was on her way home. She pulled out her phone and sent them off a text telling them to expect her in about twenty minutes, but before she could put her phone away, she paused and eyed Felassan’s name in her texts. 

She gazed at his name with a squirmy feeling in her gut, then tapped his name and hovered her thumbs over the keyboard. She kind of wanted to text him, but she didn’t really know what to say, especially after the amazing almost-sex that she’d run out on. Besides, she wasn’t usually the one to initiate their texts. He was the one who texted _her_ first. If she texted _him_ , that would feel significant somehow, and the thought of this being significant was enough to overwhelm her into shoving her phone back into her pocket. 

She grumpily continued on her way home. Less than a minute later, her phone chirped. 

She pulled it out of her pocket, expecting a reply from Athera or Nare. Indeed, Athera had replied saying there was a chocolate cake waiting and she hoped Tamaris had room for dessert. 

And Felassan had also texted her.

_Felassan 10:35 p.m.  
[img3367.jpg]  
[img3368.jpg]  
[img3369.jpg]  
_

_Felassan 10:35 p.m.  
Just sending photos of the arrow design before I shower. For record-keeping purposes._

Tamaris bit back a smile as she read his text, then tapped out a quick reply.

_Tamaris 10:35 p.m.  
You didn’t need to take photos, I remember what I did_

_Felassan 10:35 p.m.  
You remember exactly what you did? Should I test you next time I see you to make sure you accurately memorized every line?_

_Tamaris 10:35 p.m.  
Not EXACTLY what I did, smartass  
But it doesn’t need to be an exact replica_

_Felassan 10:35 p.m.  
Freehand improvisation. I like it. _

_Felassan 10:35 p.m.  
There are some artists out there who would see it as a work of art to watch the design bleeding down my arm in the shower. _

_Tamaris 10:36 p.m.  
Are those the same artists who would jack off on a blank canvas and call it art_

_Felassan 10:36 p.m.  
What a groundbreaking idea. I should steal it from you. I even know what I would call it: ‘Crème de la neige.’ _

_Tamaris 10:36 p.m.  
What’s that mean_

_Felassan 10:36 p.m.  
It’s Orlesian for ‘cream of the snow’._

_Tamaris 10:36 p.m.  
Lol that’s disgusting_

_Felassan 10:36 p.m.  
Don’t laugh. It’s not funny, it’s art._

She snorted a laugh. Then she nibbled the inside of her cheek as she tried to think of something else to say.

_Tamaris 10:36 p.m.  
Thanks for dinner btw. I can’t remember if I even thanked you_

_Felassan 10:36 p.m.  
You did. And it was my pleasure to feed you._

Her mind instantly went to the joke he’d made about feeding her after she finished blowing him, and a crystal-clear memory burst across her mind: the pulsing of Felassan’s cock in her fist as he expelled that final little spurt of his climax onto his belly, and the smoothness of his skin beneath her tongue as she lapped it up.

A sudden rush of heat pulsed between her legs. _Fucking Felassan,_ she thought in amusement. There was no way he hadn’t mean his text as a provocation. 

She eyed his texts for a moment, torn between a wish to reply and a wish to ignore him. Then, before she could think too hard about it, she tapped out a response.

_Tamaris 10:37 p.m.  
Yeah the cock au vin was really good_

_Felassan 10:37 p.m.  
It’s ‘coq au vin’, actually._

_Tamaris 10:37 p.m.  
That was good too_

_Felassan 10:37 p.m.  
Have mercy, avise. I’m still recovering._

She laughed again, and not for the first time, she was relieved that he was being so chill about her sudden departure from his apartment. She still didn’t totally understand why he was bothering with her given her obnoxious hot-and-cold behaviour. If she was in his place, she definitely wouldn’t have bothered with a guy treating her like this.

She thought for a minute, then slowly typed out another text.

_Tamaris 10:39 p.m.  
You’re not mad that we didn’t fuck?_

His reply was immediate, as though he’d been waiting for her text.

_Felassan 10:39 p.m.  
I would never get mad at you for that. Never. _

_Felassan 10:39 p.m.  
Besides, you rode me like a warrior on halla-back and licked the cum off of my abs. I have nothing to be mad about. I am, in fact, exceedingly happy._

A ripple of desire pulsed through her body, followed by a very strong wish to punch herself for leaving his apartment.

_Tamaris 10:39 p.m.  
You are such a fucking rogue_

_Felassan 10:39 p.m.  
You enjoy it._

_Tamaris 10:39 p.m.  
Hard not to enjoy having a hot guy’s head between my legs_

_Felassan 10:40 p.m.  
Ah, that’s what I like to hear. Go on, tell me more._

_Tamaris 10:40 p.m.  
Lol don’t tempt me_

_Felassan 10:40 p.m.  
I live to tempt you._

She smirked, but a little twist of uncertainty prompted her to put her phone back in her pocket. This was the problem: Felassan did tempt her, more with every passing day. He tempted her with his humour and his patience and the gorgeous length of his cock, tempting her to fall headfirst into the warmth of his affections.

But that deeply entrenched feeling of caution in her chest was resisting the fall, even as she tiptoed closer to the edge.

She sighed, annoyed once more by her own caution. A few minutes later, her phone chirped again.

_Felassan 10:43 p.m.  
I eagerly await your next text. Until then: goodnight, avise. x_

She eyed the innocuous little ‘x’ at the end of his message, then typed out one last playful reply.

_Tamaris 10:43 p.m.  
Night 🍆_

_Felassan 10:43 p.m.  
😂 You are a terrible minx._

She smirked, then reread his texts with a mixture of fondness and disbelief. How was it that Felassan always seemed to know when she needed space? Why was he so willing to wait for her to come around? What if it took months for her to get out of her own head? Would he be willing to stick around for that long?

And why did she care so much about the possibility that he would run out of patience?

By the time she got home, her head was a confused morass of fondness and wariness and desire and annoyance — annoyance at herself for being so fucked-up, and at Felassan for being so perfect that he was making her this confused. 

She took a deep breath to calm herself as she walked up the stairs to the apartment. This wasn’t the time to brood about Felassan and her own stupid feelings; this was the time to celebrate Athera’s book chapter.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Athera was sitting in the living room watching a Hercinian drama and drinking a cup of tea, and she perked up as Tamaris came inside. 

“Hey!” she chirped. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” Tamaris said as she kicked off her boots. “He’s a good cook.” 

“Lucky you!” Athera said. Then she shot Tamaris a teasing smile. “Does he know that you can’t cook?”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed. “It’s not that I can’t cook. I just _don’t_ cook.”

Athera giggled. “I know. I’m just teasing you.”

Tamaris smiled faintly as she plopped down on the couch. “Uh-huh. Hey, congratulations. I know I was ripping on you earlier about Abelas, but seriously, this is amazing news. I’m so happy for you.”

Athera nodded happily, Tamaris noted curiously that her cheeks were turning faintly pink. “Thanks, thanks! Yeah, it was totally unexpected! Just a couple of weeks ago I was telling him off for not reading my thesis, and now he wants it in his history book!”

Tamaris blinked. “Wait, you told him off?”

Athera pulled a face. “Yeah. It was right before lunch though, so I wasn’t at my best.”

“Are you kidding?” Tamaris exclaimed. “That’s fucking awesome. From the way you’ve been describing him, he really needed a good telling-off.”

Athera let out a nervous laugh and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, honestly, I think maybe I’ve been a little unfair about him.”

“What do you mean?”

Athera opened her mouth to reply, but Tamaris waved a hand. “Hang on, where’s Nare? She’s here, right?”

“Yeah, she’s just doing some reading in her room,” Athera said.

“Okay, hold that thought while I grab her. And let me throw on my sweats.” Tamaris stood and headed down the hall that led to her and Nare’s bedrooms. She knocked on Nare’s door before heading into her own bedroom.

“Hey, I’m back,” she called. “It’s cake time.” She kicked her door shut and quickly pulled off her jeans, then hesitated for a second before stripping off her underwear too. 

They were still damp. She remembered Felassan’s tongue rolling slowly over her clit, and a shiver of pleasure raced down her spine. 

She smirked, then put on a fresh pair of panties and some comfy sweats. She tucked her phone in her pocket and wandered out of her room to find that Nare’s bedroom door was still closed.

She knocked again. “Hey, are you coming out?”

“Yeah, just a second!” Nare called. 

Tamaris wandered back to the main room. Athera was in the kitchen humming to herself as she sliced a beautifully iced chocolate cake. 

Athera pulled an apologetic face. “It’s not a layer cake this time since I made it kind of last minute, but it’ll still be good.”

“I believe you,” Tamaris said as she perched on the kitchen counter. “You know your vegan cakes are the only ones I’ll eat.”

Athera chuckled. “You’re just picky about vegan food.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten better,” Tamaris said defensively. “And I know you enjoy a big fucking steak just as much as I do.”

“Sure, but I don’t get grumpy if I don’t eat a steak every week,” Athera replied.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a monster, I know.” Tamaris glanced down the hall at Nare’s bedroom. “Seriously, what the fuck is her hold-up? Nare!” she yelled.

Nare’s bedroom door opened. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said, and she darted into the bathroom. 

Athera raised her eyebrows at Tamaris. “She’s really taking her reading seriously.”

Tamaris frowned. “She’s getting a fuckton of readings considering that this is an art degree.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Athera said thoughtfully. “But she’s been painting and sketching every day too. Maybe that’s just the Master’s degree workload.”

Tamaris shrugged cluelessly and slid off of the counter to make herself a coffee. A minute later, Nare joined them with a smile. 

“Did you have a good time with Felassan?” she asked.

Tamaris nodded. “Yeah, it was nice.”

“What did he cook for you?” Athera asked. “You didn’t mention!”

“He made _coq au vin_ ,” Tamaris said.

Nare wiggled her eyebrows. “Cock au vin, you say?”

Tamaris grinned. “Yeah, exactly.”

Athera’s eyes widened, and Nare’s jaw dropped in delight. “Wait, actually? Tell us!”

“Nice try,” Tamaris drawled. “It’s Athera’s party.” She glanced at Athera as she fetched the almond milk for her coffee. “You were saying something about being unfair to Abelas?”

Athera pouted. “Yeah, but now I want to hear about Felassan and the _coq au vin_.”

Tamaris playfully rolled her eyes, but in truth, she felt a little reluctant to tell them much more about Felassan. If she admitted that she and Felassan hadn’t actually had sex yet, there were going to be a _lot_ of questions — questions that Tamaris didn’t want to answer, and didn’t even really have an answer to yet.

“You first,” she said. “We have to hear about your book chapter. And we have to try this cake.”

“Ooh yes yes, cake!” Athera said brightly. “Here, have a piece…” She shared out the cake, and they were all quiet for a second as they ate.

Nare groaned happily as she chewed. “This is so good.”

“Yeah,” Tamaris said. “It’s even good without any eggs or dairy.” She shot Nare a teasing smirk. 

Nare grinned and stuck her tongue out at Tamaris, and Athera chuckled. “Okay kiddos, let’s go sit in the living room and get cozy.”

They migrated to the living room. Athera sat cross-legged on a cushion on the floor with her plate on the coffee table, and Nare settled on the couch while Tamaris draped herself in an armchair. 

Nare smiled at Athera. “Okay, tell us everything!”

Athera tucked her hair behind her ears. “Well, Abelas sent me an email asking if I wanted to meet him for a work lunch tomorrow, and I asked if he wanted to go today instead, and he got kind of grumpy about it but he said yes. So we went for dim sum, and while we were waiting for the food he said he read my thesis and he gave me all these notes, and — gods, so many notes.” She laughed. “Like, a million notes. So I thought he hated it. But then he said it was really good even though it was wrong, and he wanted it for his and Solas’s book!”

Tamaris blinked in bemusement. “So – wait a sec. He told you your thesis was wrong?”

“Yes,” she said. “But he said it wasn’t my fault since I was missing crucial data.”

“That’s big of him,” Tamaris said sarcastically. 

“It is, actually,” Athera said earnestly. “A lot of academics would just tear someone down for being wrong instead of giving them credit for analyzing the data they had.”

“Oh.” Tamaris pulled an apologetic face. “So, uh, is that why he’s not an asshole anymore?”

Athera and Nare both snorted a laugh, and Athera flicked a crumb at her. “It’s not just that. It’s… I don’t know. Maybe I was quick to judge him. I get the impression that a lot of people are quick to judge him.”

Nare tilted her head. “Why do you think that?”

“He… kind of said so?” Athera said hesitantly. “When we were on our way to lunch.”

Nare’s eyebrows rose. “He told you that?”

“Well, kind of,” Athera said. “I kind of inferred it from the way he was reacting to the stuff I was asking him. But…” She frowned slightly before speaking again. “No, I mean, yeah, he said it too. He’s… I don’t know.” She dropped her gaze to her plate. “I think he’s not as stern and humourless as he seems.”

Nare’s lips curled in a slow smile. “I don’t know about that. He is pretty stern.”

“No, I know,” Athera said quickly, “but I think… I think he’s lonely but he doesn’t know how to say so.”

Her cheeks were turning faintly pink. Tamaris narrowed her eyes. “Do you have a crush on him?”

Her face abruptly turned red, and Nare perked up. “Aw, seriously? That’s so cute!”

“No no!” she babbled. “No, I don’t — I mean, no, not a crush! I — he’s good-looking, but I don’t have — he’s my colleague!” she squeaked. “I don’t have a crush on my colleague. That would be inappropriate.”

“Not really,” Nare said. “You can date a colleague. It’s not ideal, but it’s not against any rules. It’s not like Abelas is your supervisor or anything.”

“He kind of is,” Athera said warily.

“Not technically,” Nare said.

“But he oversees my work and tells me what to do!” she protested.

“He doesn’t have the power to fire you, so technically he’s not your boss,” Nare said firmly. “You work in parallel with each other. You wouldn’t get in trouble for dating him.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. Nare seemed oddly invested in this. Athera, meanwhile, was sputtering indignantly. “Date him!” she exclaimed. “Dating! I — no. This is silly.”

“It’s not silly,” Nare insisted. “If you want to date him, I think you should.” 

Tamaris piped up. “I agree with Nare. I think you should go for it.”

Athera stared at her in exasperation. “You haven’t even met him!”

“I will eventually, if he’s important enough,” Tamaris said. “Besides, you said he’s good-looking, right?”

“Yes,” Athera said cautiously.

“When was the last time you had sex?” Tamaris said bluntly.

Athera buried her face in her hands. “Creators’ sakes, Tam…” she whined.

Tamaris frowned. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah, don’t be embarrassed,” Nare said. “You know it’s been even longer for me.”

Tamaris shot her a sympathetic look, and Athera finally sighed. “Fine, fine. It’s been like ten months. No sex since I broke up with Loranil.”

Nare tilted her head curiously. “How is he, by the way?”

“He’s doing well!” Athera said. “He went back to his clan around the time that we moved here.” She chuckled. “Actually, he’s going to be handfasted to a boy he was childhood sweethearts with.”

Nare’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously? That’s — actually, I guess that’s not that fast if they were childhood sweethearts.”

Athera giggled. “Right? It’s adorable.”

Tamaris studied Athera with some bemusement. It was so surreal to know someone who had actually had an amicable breakup with no lingering resentment. It was genuinely unfathomable to Tamaris that Athera was still friends with her ex.

She steered the conversation back to Abelas. “Okay, so it’s been almost a year since you had sex,” she said. “You should make a move on Abelas and have sex with him if he’s so good-looking.”

“Yeah,” Nare agreed. “I bet it’s been a while since he had sex too. You could help to loosen him up!”

Athera patted her pinkening cheeks. “Seriously, you guys, it’s not like that. We’re just colleagues.”

“Colleagues who go for lunch together,” Nare said persuasively. 

“That only happened twice!” Athera protested. “Although, well…” She pulled a face, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows. 

“Go on,” she urged.

Athera sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “Okay, I might have kind of talked him into having lunch with me once a week so we can talk about Elvhen translation stuff.”

Tamaris smiled slowly. “That’s sexy.”

Nare snorted a laugh, and Athera hunched her shoulders. “Oh hush,” she mumbled.

“No, I mean it,” Tamaris said. “It is sexy for you, since you’re so nerdy.”

Nare laughed harder. “You’re such a bitch.”

“I fucking swear on my life, I’m not trying to be,” Tamaris said. “That’s totally like Athera’s dream date! Lunch and a chat about Elvhen translation? Look at her, she’s practically swooning. It’s fucking adorable.” Indeed, Athera’s eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed.

She waved her hands haphazardly. “Okay, look, even if I did have a crush on Abelas, it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me that way.”

“I don’t believe that,” Tamaris said bluntly. 

“You don’t even know him!” Athera protested.

Nare cut in. “ _I_ know him and I don’t believe that.”

Athera sputtered. “Wha— Nare, are you serious?”

Nare shrugged and tucked her feet up on the couch. “Solas said Abelas never goes for lunch. I think it means something that he’s gone for lunch with you twice, and one of those times was _his_ invitation. And he agreed to have lunch with you once a week?” She tilted her head persuasively. “That really is cute.”

Athera groaned and buried her head in her hands. “I’m so confused.”

“Confused about what?” Tamaris asked.

She lifted her face and gave Tamaris a pleading look. “Can you do me a favour?”

“Sure, anything,” Tamaris said easily.

“Can you text Felassan for me?”

Her heart flipped. “Text Felassan?”

“Yeah,” Athera said. “I have a question about Arlathani culture.” Then she smiled at Nare. “I guess I could ask Solas too. I don’t suppose you have his cell number, do you?”

Nare’s eyebrows rose. “Um, yeah, I — I have his number for supervisor reasons. But it’s only for supervisor reasons, and it’s, um, it’s kind of late.”

Athera chuckled. “I was mostly kidding. But seriously, Tam, can you ask a question to Felassan for me? But _don’t_ tell him I’m the one who’s asking or that it’s related to Abelas.”

Tamaris sighed. “Okay, so we’re pretending we’re twelve years old. Awesome.” She pulled out her phone, and Athera clapped her hands. 

“Thank you, thank you!” she gushed. “I love you, you’re the best!”

“Uh-huh,” Tamaris drawled. She flicked open her messages and raised her eyebrows expectantly. “What’s the question?”

Athera leaned forward eagerly. “What would he think if a girl he wasn’t dating put dumplings on his plate?”

Nare guffawed, and Tamaris wrinkled her nose. “What the fuck does that mean? Is that code for something dirty?”

Athera _tsk_ ed. “No, you dummy, I’m being literal! Just ask him, please?” She widened her eyes pleadingly, and Tamaris rolled her eyes.

“Fine, fine.” She tapped out a text to Felassan.

_Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
Hey I have a random question_

_Felassan 11:21 p.m.  
My favourite kind._

_Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
What would you think if a girl put dumplings on your plate_

_Felassan 11:21 p.m.  
Why do you ask? Are you considering putting dumplings on my plate?_

_Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
Depends on what it means_

_Felassan 11:21 p.m.  
All right, I’ll play along. My answer is this: it depends. Is she hosting a dinner party, or am I having a meal with her in private?_

_Tamaris 11:22 p.m.  
Private meal_

_Felassan 11:22 p.m.  
And I assume that I am not already dating this hypothetical girl?_

_Tamaris 11:22 p.m.  
Yeah_

_Felassan 11:22 p.m.  
I would think she wanted to sleep with me._

Tamaris looked up. “He says it means the girl wants to sleep with him.”

Athera’s face turned red, and Nare leaned forward eagerly. “Ooh. Athera, did you put your dumplings on Abelas’s plate?”

“I didn’t mean to!” she whined. “I didn’t know it was like a sexual thing in Arlathan!”

“Arlathan is fucking weird,” Tamaris said flatly.

Athera sighed loudly, then sat up on her knees. “Okay okay, I have another question. Can you ask him what it would mean if he and the girl weren’t dating and she was putting dumplings on his plate, but he didn’t stop her from putting the dumplings on his plate?”

Nare grinned and ate another bite of cake, and Tamaris scoffed. “Sure, why not. This might as well happen.” She looked down at her screen to find another text from Felassan.

_Felassan 11:22 p.m.  
So are you considering putting dumplings on my plate? I’d devour them with great relish if you did._

_Tamaris 11:24 p.m.  
I’ll give you dumplings all right_

_Felassan 11:24 p.m.  
Easy, avise. You’re going to make me hard._

She snorted, and Nare sat forward. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she said hastily. “Hang on.” She tapped out Athera’s question.

_Tamaris 11:24 p.m.  
Follow-up question — let’s say this girl is putting dumplings on your plate. What does it mean if YOU don’t stop her from putting the fucking dumplings on your plate_

_Felassan 11:25 p.m.  
I would only let a girl keep putting dumplings on my plate if I wanted to sleep with her as well. If I wasn’t interested, I would… how do I describe this? _

_Felassan 11:25 p.m.  
I would find a way to make it clear to her that I didn’t want her to put dumplings on my plate without directly telling her to stop and without hurting her feelings._

Tamaris read his text a couple of times in confusion. That sounded needlessly complicated.

_Tamaris 11:25 p.m.  
Why not just tell her to stop giving you dumplings?_

_Felassan 11:25 p.m.  
Because not everyone is as charmingly rude as you. _

_Tamaris 11:25 p.m.  
Fuck you lol_

_Felassan 11:26 p.m.  
Why are you asking me this? Truly, you’re making me hard._

_Tamaris 11:26 p.m.  
Keep it in your pants for now _

_Felassan 11:26 p.m.  
For now, you say? What about later?_

Tamaris smirked. She could practically hear the curl of mischief in his voice. Then Athera spoke up in an anxious tone. “So? What did he say?”

“Um,” she said distractedly. “Uh, hang on…”

_Tamaris 11:26 p.m.  
What are you asking exactly_

_Felassan 11:26 p.m.  
I’m asking if you’ll text me later when you’re in bed._

“Tam!” Athera pressed.

“Okay, okay,” she blurted. “He said, um… he said he’d only let a girl keep putting dumplings on his plate if he wanted to fuck her too.”

Athera’s face went beet-red, and Nare beamed at her. “So that means Abelas has feelings for you too!”

“Yeah, horny feelings,” Tamaris said distractedly. “You should definitely go for it.” She looked down at her phone once more.

_Tamaris 11:27 p.m.  
Are you asking me to sext with you_

_Felassan 11:27 p.m.  
How scandalous. I would never suggest something so crass._

_Felassan 11:27 p.m.  
If you happened to send me text messages with strongly suggestive undertones, however…_

“Tamaris, what are you doing?” Nare sing-songed.

“Yeah, what are you doing?” Athera complained. “I’m in a crisis!” 

Tamaris smirked but didn’t look up from her phone. “Hang on one second, just a second…”

_Tamaris 11:27 p.m.  
You are fucking unbelievable_

_Felassan 11:27 p.m.  
And you are exquisite. Especially when you’re splayed out half-naked on my couch._

_Fuck,_ she thought giddily. She shoved her phone back into her pocket without replying and looked up to find Athera and Nare staring avidly at her.

She scowled at them. “What?”

“Oh, nice try,” Nare said. “You were smiling.”

“You were smiling so much!” Athera chirped. “That’s so sweet! What was he saying? Was he saying nice things?”

“Was he saying naughty things?” Nare asked with a grin.

Tamaris scoffed. “Nosy bitches. Anyway, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Athera and the fact that she and Abelas obviously want to bang each other.”

“Hey!” Athera squawked. “That’s not fair, the dumplings were an accident—” 

Nare raised her eyebrows. “But he kept letting you put them on his plate, right?”

“M-maybe,” Athera stammered. “Yeah. He — yeah.”

Nare stretched out on the couch with a smile. “Then that’s definitely not an accident from his end.”

Athera groaned. “ _Fenedhis_.”

Tamaris frowned at her. “Seriously though, what’s going on with you? You’re not usually this shy.”

Athera gave her a flat look. “Well, the boy I like isn’t usually an older man who’s all quiet and stoic and hard to read.”

Tamaris decided not to point out that Athera had finally admitted that she liked Abelas. But before she could reply, Nare jumped in. “He’s not that much older.”

“He’s thirteen years older,” Athera pointed out.

“That doesn’t matter though, right?” Nare said. “You’re both adults.”

“Yeah, that’s a dumb excuse,” Tamaris chimed in.

“No it’s not!” Athera protested. “And it’s not _me_ who has the problem. What if he…” She slumped. “When I first started working there, he clearly saw me as being a lot younger.”

Nare raised her eyebrows. “You’re worried that he sees you as a child?”

“Kind of, yeah,” she mumbled. 

Tamaris curled up cozily on her chair. “Well, according to Felassan, if he’s letting you put dumplings on his plate, he definitely doesn’t see you as a child.”

Athera gave them a pitiful look. “He calls me _da’len_ sometimes.”

“That could be hot,” Tamaris said. “A _hah’ren/da’len_ thing? I could get on board with that.”

“Oh, totally,” Nare enthused. “That’s such a daddy thing!”

Athera went tomato red and covered her mouth. “Oh my gods. I am going to die.”

Nare and Tamaris cackled. When Athera’s face had faded back to its usual tawny shade, Nare smiled expectantly at Tamaris. “Okay, your turn,” she said. “Tell us about the cock au vin.”

“Yes, your turn to be in the hot seat,” Athera said in obvious relief. 

Tamaris clicked her tongue. “Okay, okay, fine. He made me a really nice dinner, and we talked about my tattoo practice.” She hesitated for a second as she remembered what Felassan had told her about Arlathani vallaslin. She was sure Nare and Athera didn’t know; if they had, they would have told her.

After a second’s thought, she decided not to tell them about it tonight, not while they were having a chilled-out gossip night. She decided not to think too hard about the hypocrisy of keeping this information from them. 

She went on. “We ended up on his couch, and he fingered me and went down on me. And I gave him a blow job.”

Athera sighed happily. “That sounds so nice.”

Nare leaned forward eagerly. “How was it? Was it good? Is his dick nice?”

She thought about the perfect subtle curve of Felassan’s shaft and the delicate sheen of moisture painting the tip of his cock before she took him into her mouth, and a flicker of warmth came to life in her belly. “Yeah,” she said gruffly. “He was really fucking good. And his dick is perfect.”

The word ‘perfect’ slipped out without her thinking, and Tamaris immediately regretted it, especially when Nare and Athera’s eyes widened. 

“Perfect?” Nare said. “Wow. That’s high praise.”

Athera chimed in. “What about the sex-sex? Is he good in bed, too?”

Damn it, this was what Tamaris had been hoping to avoid. She raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to hear all the details? He’s your coworker,” she said to Athera. “And your instructor,” she added with a nod of her chin to Nare.

“I don’t care,” Nare said immediately.

“Me neither,” Athera said. “Tell us the details!” She propped her chin on her fists and smiled expectantly.

Tamaris awkwardly tugged her ear. She wasn’t really in the mood to get into this, but they’d just spend the last twenty minutes poking at Athera, so it was only fair.

She sighed and finally told them the truth. “We haven’t had sex yet.”

Athera’s eyes widened, and Nare asked the inevitable question. “You haven’t? How come?”

Tamaris shrugged and idly studied her nails. “No reason.”

Nare and Athera were quiet. When the silence started to prickle at the back of Tamaris’s neck, she looked up to find them watching her with annoyingly soft looks on their faces. 

She frowned at them in exasperation. “What the fuck are you staring at me for?” 

“Are you saving the sex for a special moment?” Athera asked.

She scoffed. “For fuck’s sake. We’re not fucking virgins waiting for our wedding night.”

“Obviously,” Nare said calmly. “But if you’re saving it for a special moment, that’s really nice.”

Tamaris clenched her jaw and tried to control her instinct to snap at them. “It’s not really that. I know he wants to fuck me. It’s…” Gods, this was fucking hard to admit. “I’m the problem,” she said finally. “We haven’t had sex yet because I’m fucked up.”

Nare’s eyebrows twisted sympathetically. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged and picked at her cuticles. “I keep… I dunno, getting freaked out when we’re close to having sex. I’ve left his place three times now rather than having sex with him. He’s going to think I’m insane soon if I keep this shit up.”

Athera shook her head. “No way. He won’t think you’re insane.”

Tamaris laughed bitterly. “ _I_ would think I was insane if the positions were reversed. I don’t know why he’s bothering.”

“Because he really likes you,” Athera replied.

“Why?” she burst out. “Why is that? I’m so fucking cranky with him. Maybe _he’s_ the insane one for sticking around with me.”

Nare tutted. “He’s not insane for sticking with you. You’re amazing when you let your guard down.”

“Yeah, right,” Tamaris drawled. “And then _I’m_ the fucking dumbass who’s all wide open and asking to be punched in the gut.”

Athera’s face creased with worry. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I don’t… The more he…” She took a deep breath. “The closer he gets, the more he could fuck me up.”

Athera’s expression softened with a sad sort of understanding. Tamaris dropped her gaze and frowned at her nails again. 

Nare broke the silence. “I don’t think Felassan is anything like Perron.”

“That’s the thing,” Tamaris said. “You don’t _think_ he is, but you don’t know that. You can never know if the person you love is going to suddenly turn around and fuck you over. You can _never_ know that for sure.” 

Nare and Athera exchanged a sad look, and Tamaris felt a little bad for being so pessimistic. Then Athera looked up at her. “Is that why you’re not having sex with him? You don’t want to get too close?” 

She shrugged. “I guess, yeah.” She thought about the way Felassan would look at her when they were twined together on his couch: the passion and the focus in his beautiful violet eyes, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be and no one else he’d rather be with. He looked at her like she was something special – just like how he was becoming special to her — and if he looked at her this way while they were just making out, how would he look at her when they were wrapped together in his bed? How thoroughly would she be trapped in his orbit once he had her naked? Once he’d peeled off her clothes, how thoroughly would he peel open her emotional armour and expose her to the hidden knives he might have in his pockets?

A bolt of anxiety speared her in the gut, and she folded her arms defensively. Then Nare spoke again in a gentle voice. “Oral isn’t that far off from full sex, though.”

“I know, okay?” Tamaris said sharply. “I know. Fuck.”

There was another brief silence. Then Tamaris ran her hands through her hair. “Look, I’ll tell you when we have sex, okay? I’ll tell you when it happens. If he doesn’t dump me first.”

“He’s not going to dump you,” Athera said. 

“You don’t know that,” she retorted. 

“I really have faith that he won’t,” Athera said stubbornly. “With how sweet he was after only having that one date with you? And how often you’ve been seeing each other for the past couple weeks?”

Tamaris wrinkled her nose. “Are you swooning? Stop swooning.”

Athera laughed. “I’ll swoon if I want to, okay? I really don’t think he’s going to dump you.”

Tamaris gave her a slightly resentful look. “I wish I was as optimistic as you.”

Athera playfully waved her off. “I know, I know, I’ve been watching too many romantic dramas.”

“I’m not ragging on you,” Tamaris said seriously. “I mean it. I envy you. Abelas would be fucking lucky to have you.”

“He really would,” Nare put in.

Athera smiled goofily. “Ah, well, um, you know, we’ll see what happens.” She took a huge bite of cake, and Tamaris watched fondly as her cheeks started going pink yet again.

She turned to Nare. “Ok, your turn. Any news on the sex or romance side of things?” 

Nare huffed. “Me? No.”

Tamaris eyed her sympathetically. Athera swallowed her cake and addressed her in a tentative tone. “I thought you were thinking about trying online dating again.”

Nare shrugged. “Yeah, I thought about it, but… no, it’s okay. I’m honestly okay being single.”

Tamaris nibbled the inside of her cheek, a little bit at a loss for what to say. She and Athera knew the real reason that Nare would rather be single, and Tamaris really wasn’t sure how to comfort her. She couldn’t imagine having pain every time she had sex. In truth, Tamaris was surprised that Nare still had a sex drive if having sex was so painful for her, but it felt like that would be the wrong thing to say. 

Athera, optimistic as ever, gave Nare a hopeful look. “Are you sure you don’t want to… to try again? Maybe it’s just a matter of meeting the right person.”

“I think you’re right, honestly,” Nare said. “If I was with the right person, I think it would be… I think it would work.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But honestly, don’t worry about me. I’m fine with just my hand.” She smiled cheekily, but Tamaris shot her a shrewd look.

“Have you been masturbating more often recently?” she asked.

Nare’s eyebrows jumped up. “I — um, why do you ask?”

“You’ve been holing up in your room more often in the past couple weeks,” Tamaris said. “And coming out of your room all blushy and distracted.”

Athera’s jaw dropped. “Oh! Oh, is that why? I thought you said you were doing yoga!”

Tamaris turned to her with an incredulous stare. “How have you survived this long being this fucking adorable?”

Athera grinned at her, and Nare let out a little laugh and ran her hands over her hair. “Okay, yes, I’ve been masturbating more often.”

“Any particular reason why?” Tamaris asked. 

Nare shrugged again. “No, not really. Just… I mean, it’s been almost three years now.”

“That long?” Tamaris said without thinking. 

Nare dropped her gaze, and Tamaris instantly wanted to punch herself. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted. “I’m — gods, I’m a fucking bitch. I didn’t mean to… ugh, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Nare said hastily. “It’s just… I’ve had the pain long enough that I’d rather have no sex than bad sex. It’s better this way.”

Athera shuffled over to the couch and squeezed her knee, and Tamaris gazed seriously at her. “Honestly, I can see that,” she said quietly. “Like, I can’t say I know how you feel, but I… I feel what you’re saying. I get it, seriously.”

Nare gave her a little half-smile. Athera patted Nare’s knee. “I just don’t want you to give up.”

“I’m not giving up, I promise,” Nare said. “I… honestly, I even feel kind of hopeful these days. Maybe that’s why I’m wanking more.”

Tamaris smirked. “You found a good porn site, didn’t you?”

Athera straightened. “Did you?”

“You have to share if you did,” Tamaris said.

Nare laughed. “No, no porn site. But I did find these Youtube videos that are like, this guy with a really nice voice doing roleplays of sex scenarios? It’s like porn for if you have a voice kink.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Oh, interesting. I don’t know if I could get off without any visuals, though.”

“I’ll send you a link if you want to try it out,” Nare said.

Tamaris shrugged. “Sure, I’ll try it.”

“Send it to me too!” Athera said. “I’ll try it too.”

Nare smiled at her and tapped around on her phone. A second later, Tamaris’s phone chirped, and she pulled it out to find the link from Nare, as well as a couple of texts from Felassan.

_Felassan 11:28 p.m.  
Text me later if you want. The dirtier, the better._

_Felassan 11:28 p.m.  
If I don’t hear from you, goodnight. x_

She bit her lip to try and hide her smile, to no avail; Athera sat up straight like a meerkat. “What’s that? Did Felassan text you again?”

“No,” Tamaris said cagily. 

Nare and Athera shot her matching skeptical looks, and she rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, yes.”

Athera beamed at her. “He makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

Tamaris tugged her ear. “He’s fun, yeah. It’s, uh… it’s fun.”

“That’s really nice, Tam,” Nare said softly. “Seriously. I really hope he’ll keep making you happy.” 

_Me too,_ Tamaris thought. But even admitting that — admitting to herself that she wanted to be happy with Felassan, that she wanted to trust him to play some role in her happiness: this admission made her gut twist with anxiety. 

She put her phone back into her pocket and mustered a smile for the girls. “Who wants more cake? I want some more cake.”

“Oh, me too,” Nare piped in, and Athera beamed at them both. They each got another piece of cake, and Tamaris asked Athera to tell them more about her book chapter — which was, of course, the actual reason for this little celebration. 

When it was just past midnight, Athera reluctantly headed off to bed, and Tamaris and Nare chatted quietly for a while longer before heading down the hall to their own bedrooms. Nare wistfully eyed Tamaris’s half-empty cup of coffee as they made their way down the hall. “Maybe I should have some coffee. I have to read this really dense article for Solas by Thursday.”

Tamaris lifted an eyebrow. “Do you really have that many readings, or is ‘reading’ just your cover story for all the wanking?”

Nare laughed. “No, I really do have a lot of reading. But it’s possible that I used it as an excuse once or twice when I was really just getting off.”

Tamaris snickered. “Good for you.”

Nare grinned as she stepped into her room, but before she could close her door, Tamaris spoke up. “Hey, listen. Um, I… I know I don’t — I can’t understand the… the pain you have but I just — I wanted to let you know that I…” She trailed off awkwardly, and Nare tilted her head curiously. 

Tamaris tugged her earlobe. “You’re coping as best you can, and I get that. So whatever you have to do to make it better, you should do it. If that means getting off on your own a lot or buying toys or whatever, I just — I get it. That’s all.”

Nare smiled. “What if it meant sleeping with inappropriate men?”

Tamaris smirked at her joke. “All men are inappropriate in one way or another. Go for it.”

Nare laughed softly. “I’ll remember you said that.”

“You can quote me on it,” Tamaris said dryly. “‘Night.”

“Goodnight,” Nare said. She closed her door, and Tamaris went to her own bedroom and closed the door. 

She put her half-drunk cup of coffee on the bedside table and pulled her phone out of her pocket, then flopped down on her belly with her phone in her hands. She swiped into her messages and tapped open her message thread with Felassan. 

For a long moment, she stared at his messages and thought about her conversation with the girls. She thought about Athera’s sunny optimism and her swooning, and Nare’s quiet encouragement to enjoy the happiness where could get it. But she also couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the breathtaking pain of being blindsided by Perron, of being betrayed when she’d least expected it and at the worst possible moment. 

She gazed blankly at Felassan’s humour-filled texts, her belly flip-flopping with a nauseating mixture of anxiety and anticipation. Why was it that when she thought about Felassan, she always felt like she was trying to talk herself into swan-diving off of a cliff into a beautiful but bottomless oasis?

She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment longer. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she sent him a text.

_Tamaris Wed Sept 23 12:18 a.m.  
Hey_

_Real original,_ she thought ruefully. Thankfully, Felassan didn’t seem to mind her lackluster text.

_Felassan 12:18 a.m.  
What a pleasant surprise. How was your celebration?_

_Tamaris 12:18 a.m.  
Good. Athera baked a cake_

_Felassan 12:18 a.m.  
Lucky you. Deep mushroom brownies would have been my choice, but alas._

Tamaris smirked, but she didn’t have time to reply; he was writing another message.

_Felassan 12:18 a.m.  
So has Athera decided yet whether Abelas is interested in her or not?_

She stared at his message in surprise. She hadn’t told him that that was why she was asking the dumpling questions.

_Tamaris 12:18 a.m.  
How did you know I was asking about Athera and Abelas_

_Felassan 12:18 a.m.  
I didn’t, actually. But you just confirmed it._

She clicked her tongue. _Brat,_ she thought.

_Tamaris 12:18 a.m.  
Look at you figuring us out, such a fucking clever smartass_

_Felassan 12:18 a.m.  
I’ll take that as a compliment._

_Tamaris 12:18 a.m.  
Don’t tell Athera I told you she was asking, she was really flustered about it_

_Felassan 12:19 a.m.  
I imagine she was. She can calm down, though. He is definitely interested._

_Tamaris 12:19 a.m.  
Did he tell you that?_

_Felassan 12:19 a.m.  
Hahaha no. Absolutely not. But I have known him for years. He has a soft spot for her._

_Tamaris 12:19 a.m.  
That sounds like it’s rare from what I’ve heard_

_Felassan 12:19 a.m.  
Extremely rare. I’m genuinely looking forward to seeing how this plays out._

_Tamaris 12:19 a.m.  
He’s not an asshole is he? He better not hurt her or I’ll come after him_

_Felassan 12:19 a.m.  
Will you assault him with your housekeys?_

_Tamaris 12:19 a.m.  
Absolutely _

_Felassan 12:19 a.m.  
Be still, my beating heart. To answer your question, no. He is not an asshole. He’s just a little… rigid._

_Tamaris 12:19 a.m.  
Why can I hear you smirking_

_Felassan 12:19 a.m.  
Because you know me well._

_Not well enough,_ she thought with a pang. She thought back to what he’d hinted at earlier tonight, about his family being descended from slaves and some sort of complicated relationship with Solas, and his own life being a series of twisted roundabout paths.

It was so strange. In some ways, she really did feel like she knew Felassan well, even though it had only been a couple of weeks since they’d met. When they were spending time together and laughing and joking and talking nonstop, it really did feel sort of… serendipitous, somehow, that they’d both ended up meeting each other in this random country that had nothing to do with either of them. But in other ways, ways that he’d reminded her of tonight, he was still so much of an unknown.

And as much as it was hard and fucking _scary_ for her to admit it, she wanted to know him better. 

Another text appeared on her screen, pulling her from her roiling thoughts.

_Felassan 12:21 a.m.  
So what are you wearing?_

She barked out a laugh, then swiftly typed a reply.

_Tamaris 12:21 a.m.  
You’re fucking kidding right_

_Tamaris 12:21 a.m.  
You did not just use that line _

_Felassan 12:21 a.m.  
I did, in fact, just use that line. Shall I start off by telling you what I’m wearing?_

_Tamaris 12:21 a.m.  
Let me guess. Nothing_

_Felassan 12:21 a.m.  
Someone’s mind is in the gutter. I’m actually wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt._

Sweatpants, hm? She’d like to see him in sweatpants. She would bet good money that his cock looked real nice in sweatpants.

_Tamaris 12:21 a.m.  
Same _

_Felassan 12:21 a.m.  
We’re well-matched, then. Are you still wearing the same panties that you wore at my apartment when I was fucking you with my fingers?_

For a split second, her lungs stopped working, and a red-hot rush of lust lanced through her body. She stared at his message for a second, then tapped out a reply.

_Tamaris 12:21 a.m.  
Now who’s mind is in the gutter_

_Tamaris 12:21 a.m.  
Whose***_

_Felassan 12:21 a.m.  
Definitely mine. But I blame you with your talk of dumplings._

_Tamaris 12:22 a.m.  
You and the fucking dumplings. You Arlathani boys are weird_

_Felassan 12:22 a.m.  
That was vaguely racist. I’ll forgive you if you tell me about your panties._

She huffed in amusement, even as his words set her blood to simmering. He was so fucking outrageous.

_Tamaris 12:22 a.m.  
No, okay, I’m not wearing those panties anymore_

_Felassan 12:22 a.m.  
Interesting. Are you saying you’re wearing no panties?_

_Tamaris 12:22 a.m.  
Do you wish I was wearing no panties_

_Felassan 12:22 a.m.  
I definitely wish you were wearing no panties._

Tamaris stared at his message with her pulse rising between her legs. She could practically hear his texts in his lilting Arlathani accent, and the thought of him saying these things to her only made her pulse throb more strongly.

 _Maybe Nare’s got a point about those voice kink Youtube videos,_ she thought. As she stared stupidly at his message, another one came through.

_Felassan 12:22 a.m.  
Will you take off your panties for me?_

_Holy fuck,_ she thought. She’d had guys send her dirty texts before, but she’d only ever found them funny or gross. She’d never actually been turned on by them before.

She swallowed hard, then slowly typed out a response.

_Tamaris 12:23 a.m.  
How will you know if I really took them off_

_Felassan 12:23 a.m.  
I trust you._

_I trust you._ His words made her heart do a funny little twist. She gazed at her phone screen for a moment longer, then slid off of the bed and stood up.

Feeling a little silly but mostly turned on, she pushed off her sweats and took off her panties, then pulled her sweats back on and lay on the bed once more, this time on her back.

_Tamaris 12:24 a.m.  
Ok the panties are off, are you happy now_

_Felassan 12:24 a.m.  
Nearly. And you sound irritable. Are you horny, Tamaris?_

_Tamaris 12:24 a.m.  
Yes ok? I’m horny, you smug asshole_

_Felassan 12:24 a.m.  
Good. Then I’m not alone._

_Felassan 12:24 a.m.  
Will you touch yourself for me?_

Gods, fuck, it was way too easy to imagine him purring these things in her ear instead of writing them. She swiftly typed out an answer.

_Tamaris 12:24 a.m.  
Will you keep texting me_

_Felassan 12:24 a.m.  
Certainly, if you do the same for me after you come. _

_Tamaris 12:24 a.m.  
Ok_

_Felassan 12:24 a.m.  
Excellent. Then touch yourself, avise._

She slid her right hand into her sweats and pressed her fingers between her legs to find herself slick and ready. She stroked herself slowly to spread the moisture, then looked at her phone once more.

_Felassan 12:24 a.m.  
I can imagine how wet you are. I’m sure your thighs are all slick from thinking about my tongue between your legs earlier tonight._

A pulse of lust spread through her body, and she started petting her clit. Meanwhile, more messages from Felassan were coming through.

_Felassan 12:25 a.m.  
I wish I was licking your thighs right now. I want to lick up all those sweet juices from your pussy. I want to lick you until you’re crying my name._

Tamaris gasped and touched herself more quickly. She read his text a second time and then a third, swirling her finger around her clit all the while, and when his next text came through, it made her almost lightheaded with lust.

_Felassan 12:25 a.m.  
I want to stroke my cock while I’m licking your exquisite pussy. And after I make you come, I want to come on your belly so you can see how much I want you._

Fuck, _fuck_ , she wanted that too. She wanted Felassan bending over her, gasping and panting with his hand on his cock while he spurted his pleasure all over her belly…

Her orgasm ripped through her in a sudden torrent of pleasure. Her phone dropped from her fingers onto her chest, but she didn’t care; she was too busy thrusting toward her own hand, sliding her throbbing clit against the slick length of her fingers as she imagined the warm and milky drops of Felassan’s seed dripping onto her naked body.

Wrung out with rapture, she dragged in a shaky breath, then let it out in a satisfied little moan as she relaxed onto the bed. When her heart had slowed a little, she wiped her fingers on her thigh before sliding her hand out of her sweats. 

She picked up her phone to find another text from Felassan.

_Felassan 12:25 a.m.  
Did you come, Tamaris? Did you come while thinking about me?_

_Tamaris 12:29 a.m.  
Yes. I came while thinking about your cum all over my belly _

_Felassan 12:29 a.m.  
Go on._

Tamaris nervously licked her lips. Honestly, she’d never done this before so she felt kind of awkward about it, but she really wanted to return the favour.

_Tamaris 12:29 a.m.  
I’m thinking about your cock in my mouth. How fucking hard it is when it was going deep in my throat_

_Felassan 12:29 a.m.  
More._

_Tamaris 12:29 a.m.  
I like hearing you making noises for me while I’m fucking you with my mouth_

_Felassan 12:29 a.m.  
More_

She smirked. Missing punctuation, was he? Her sexting must be working.

_Tamaris 12:30 a.m.  
I like how your cock gets even harder right before you come_

_Tamaris 12:30 a.m.  
I bet it’s getting really hard in your hand right now. I wish I could watch you stroking that thick hard cock _

_Tamaris 12:30 a.m.  
I want to swallow your cum again. It tasted so fucking good Felassan_

She waited impatiently for him to respond, but when thirty-ish seconds went by with no response, she typed another text.

_Tamaris 12:31 a.m.  
Are you coming? I hope you’re coming all over yourself so I can lick it off_

Another minute went by. Then, to her shock, her phone rang.

It was Felassan. She automatically hit the ‘decline’ button without thinking about it, and a second later, he called again. 

She stared at his name with her heart in her throat. Why was he calling her? Had she fucked up or something? Somewhat reluctantly, she hit the ‘accept’ button and lifted the phone to her ear. 

“Hello?” she said cautiously.

“ _Avise,_ ” he said.

His voice sounded distinctly breathless. Tamaris smiled, her nerves washed away by the mellow and pleasured sound of his voice. 

“Why the fuck are you calling me?” she asked. “Are you an old man or something?”

He chuckled — a lovely, soft, rolling sound of mirth. “Yes, Tamaris. I’m actually thousands of years old.”

“That explains why you talk all fancy and polite,” she teased.

He sighed happily. “Your rudeness never fails to charm me.”

Tamaris snorted a laugh. Then Felassan spoke again in a gentler tone. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Her heart flipped. At the same moment, her stomach started to twist with nerves. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. In this moment, she wanted his voice in her ear just as much as she wanted him to leave her alone, and she _hated_ herself for being this fucking ambivalent when Felassan’s wishes were so unequivocally clear.

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Um, well…”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ll let you go. But Tamaris, I meant what I said.”

“What, um… what do you mean?” she asked.

“That I’m not angry,” he said softly. “About us not having sex.”

Her heart lodged itself in her throat. Fuck, why did he have to be so _perfect?_

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Okay, good,” she said with a boldness she didn’t really feel. “Because that would make you a fucking asshole if you were mad about it.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” he said. “So I’ll leave it to you to lead that dance.”

“Why?” she said.

“Why what?” 

She took another calming breath. “Why are you so chill about letting me take the lead?”

His tone was softer than ever when he replied. “Because when the sex is done, I want you to stay.”

Shit, her eyes were burning with tears — tears of gratitude and fear and resentment: resentment at herself for being so fucking paranoid, and resentment at Felassan for making her revisit all these difficult fucking feelings. 

She swallowed hard. “What if it takes me a long time to get there?”

“I’m in no rush,” he said. “Patience is an old friend of mine.”

She scoffed. “You and your slow arrow thing.”

“Exactly,” Felassan said.

She could hear the smile in his voice, and she couldn’t help but smile in return despite the swelling feeling in her throat. She nibbled the inside of her cheek, then shrugged. “Okay. Fine. Um, I’m gonna go now.”

“Of course,” he said. “Sweet dreams, Tamaris.”

“Yeah, you too,” she said gruffly. She ended the call, then immediately wished that she hadn’t. 

She gazed at her phone a little morosely, then dropped it on the bed with a sigh, exhausted from the ups-and-downs of her own stupid emotions. If _she_ was feeling this tired, she couldn’t imagine how worn down Felassan must feel from dealing with her bullshit. 

She lay on her bed for a long minute just staring at the ceiling and thinking. Then, finally, she stood up and trudged to the door, then made her way down the hall to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would help her to clear her head.

 _Athera should be proud of me for being so fucking optimistic,_ she thought, and she shut the bathroom door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Abelas POV, Solas POV, and boyyyyy talk! 👀😂💁🏻♂️
> 
> I am [PIkapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [Elbenherz](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) is your artist and creator of Nare! xoxo


	20. Athdhea'lath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abelas art this week!!! I was going to save this for a later chapter, but I am EXCITED and impatient. 👀😂
> 
> Regarding the voice kink YouTube videos that Nare mentioned in the last chapter: they're real. Elbenherz and I enjoy them. For research purposes. 😇 [Here's a link](https://youtu.be/0LM3qbhGPiQ) to my personal favourite.
> 
> Final thing: sometimes I want the babes' hair to look a certain way but I have no idea if I'm describing it properly, so [here is a photo](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/571412701209952266/779226680618123293/beauty-trends-blogs-daily-beauty-reporter-braidedbun.png) of what Athera's hair is supposed to look like in this chapter.

###  ABELAS 

Abelas scowled at the graduate-level paper on his desk. He hesitated to even call it a ‘graduate-level paper’; it was full of overly verbose sentences and unoriginal points, and it was clear to Abelas that the student who had submitted this paper had not actually read the assigned short story and was simply prevaricating in order to hide his lukewarm and recycled opinion.

He picked up his pen and started writing a comment to that effect on the cover page of the assignment. Then someone knocked on his office door. 

“Come in,” he called out without looking up.

The door opened. “Hi,” Athera said. “Do you have a few minutes?”

Abelas looked up, and his belly jolted. Her hair was different today. She usually wore it in loose waves or in a half-braided style with the length of it coursing down her back, but today she was wearing it up. Her shiny chestnut locks were gathered into a messy bun at her nape, and there was a simple braid that ran along her hairline to wrap around the bun.

He’d never seen her with her hair up before. He hadn’t realized how slender her neck was. 

She gave him a tentative little smile. “If you’re busy, I can come back…”

He mentally shook himself and sat back in his chair. “What do you need?”

“I’ve decided to put aside a couple of hours every week to work on the changes to my thesis for your book, so I got started on the corrections today,” she said. “But I was thinking about the… the prose style, I guess, especially since it’s supposed to be an introductory chapter.”

He frowned slightly. “All right, I’m listening.”

She approached his desk. “You’re suggesting a more formal style in keeping with the tone of an academic article. But I was thinking that the text might be more accessible if the prose isn’t quite so formal in the introductory chapters. For the advanced chapters, sure,” she said hurriedly, “but especially when we’re sort of bringing people into the topic for the first time, wouldn’t it be better if the introductory chapters were more… you know, introductory in style?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you suggesting ‘dumbing down’ your chapter?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Not dumbing it down, no. Just keeping it, you know, accessible. Not too dense. When the writing is really dense, it makes it hard for people to pick out the information from all the, um…” She rubbed her nose as though she was at a loss for words. “From all the formality,” she finally said. 

“The prose style for the chapters should be similar across the book,” he said stiffly. 

“I hear you and I agree, I really do,” she said. “But all of your chapters are written by different people — you and Solas and Dagna and a couple of others as well as me, right? So it’s going to be expected that the prose style won’t be exactly the same.”

“Not exactly the same, no, but similar.”

“Yes, and they will be similar,” she said doggedly. “I’m just suggesting that a less dense style of prose for the intro chapters will be more reader-friendly.” She raised her eyebrows persuasively. “That’s the point of this book, right? You don’t just want it to be an academic text. You want it to be a comprehensive but reader-friendly textbook for people who are historians as well as those who aren’t.”

Abelas _harrumph_ ed. “ _I_ wanted it to be a strictly academic text. Professor Solas disagreed.”

A smile flashed across her face, and Abelas pursed his lips. She rubbed her nose, then looked at him once more with a grave expression. “I’m sorry you got veto’ed,” she said. “But really, if the goal is to balance the appeal for laypeople and experts, then the introductory chapters like mine really should be more reader-friendly to bridge into the more complex stuff that you and Solas’s chapters are getting into.”

He eyed her in annoyance, and she shrugged and tucked her hands behind her back. “You don’t have to say yes or no now. It’s just a suggestion — something to think about. I did already rewrite the first part of the first section of my thesis in a more formal style—”

He interrupted her. “Call it your chapter.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

“You should call it your chapter now, not your thesis,” Abelas said. “It is a part of our book, and you should call it as such.”

Another smile burst across her face, this one more brilliant and lovely than the first. She ran her fingers along the side of her braid. “Right, yes. I, um, I rewrote the first bit of my chapter in the formal style that you wanted so you could compare the formal and less-formal styles, so if you want, I can send it to you.”

He regarded her approvingly. She’d already started to make such big changes so quickly? She really was a quick worker. “I would appreciate that,” he said. “Please do send it to me.” 

She nodded, then perked up. “I just thought of something else we could try! We could ask Tamlen and Nare to read both versions of the chapter and say which one they think is a more cohesive fit, since they’re kind of the ideal audience for the book, right? They know some stuff but they’re not history buffs, so if they have a look—”

Abelas held up a hand to stop her. “Athera: I will read the formal version and form an opinion, and we will go from there.”

She let out a little laugh. “Of course, right. Okay, then I’ll get back to it.”

“Just a moment,” he said. “Before you go…” He stood and went to the coat rack in the corner, then pulled a book out of his messenger bag. 

He approached her and offered her the book. She took the book from him and read the cover, then beamed at him. “This is the romance novel?”

“This is ‘ _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ ’, yes,” he said. “I am interested to know if you get an anthropological feel from it, as I do. If you have difficulty with the translation, I will assist.”

“If I can’t figure it out on my own with the dictionary, you mean?” she said playfully.

He smiled faintly. “Using the dictionary first would be most conducive to your learning, yes.” 

She chuckled. “Okay, I’m looking forward to it.” She studied the cover for a moment longer, then looked up at him with a mischievous little smile. “This book looks pretty worn in, Abelas. How many times have you read it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why does that matter?”

“I’m just curious.”

He folded his arms. “I have read it a number of times. I used it as a source for one of the short stories in my collection.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, is one of your stories a romantic one?”

“One of them involves a romantic relationship, yes,” he said. “Why?”

“Because I want to read it, of course!” she exclaimed.

He eyed her in confusion. “You will. You are reading the whole collection, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but I told you it’s kind of slow-going because my Elvhen is poor,” she said.

He gave her a knowing look. “Yet you were the one who insisted on borrowing those books from me.”

“I know, I know,” she said wryly. “My academic eyes were bigger than my stomach. But I’m still going to read them,” she added stubbornly.

“Will you enjoy them if you have difficulty interpreting them?” he said.

“I _am_ enjoying them!” she retorted. “I really like the way you described the abandoned ruins in the first story. It’s really haunting.”

He blinked, surprised by her praise. “Ah. Thank you, Athera.”

She smiled at him, then looked down at the book in her hands for a moment before giving him an odd sort of sideways look. “So, this book. Have you ever, um, recommended it to anyone else?”

“Yes,” he said. “I recommended it to Professor Solas and to Felassan.”

Her expression melted into a look of surprise. “Really? And did they read it?”

“Yes, they did,” he said, a little suspiciously. Why wouldn’t they read a book he’d recommended?

Her big grey eyes were widening even further. “What did they think of it?”

He sighed and began to pace slowly in front of his desk. “To be perfectly truthful, they are not as fond of it as I. Solas appreciates the anthropological value, though he finds the narrative to be slow. Felassan enjoyed the plot but felt the romance to be outdated.” ‘Too much unresolved sexual tension’ was the exact phrase Felassan had used, but Athera didn’t need to hear that.

Athera laughed, and Abelas frowned. “What is amusing?”

“You boys reading this romance novel,” she said. “I’ve never heard of a group of guys reading a romance novel and discussing it together.”

He frowned more deeply. “It is so unusual to want to share a favoured book with others?”

“No, not at all!” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad thing! I think it’s cute.”

His heart did a funny twist. “Cute?”

Her cheeks abruptly turned red. “I mean, it’s – well, I…” She trailed off, then lifted her chin and gave him an oddly challenging look. “You know what, yes. It’s cute. I think it’s cute that you wanted to share this romance novel with Solas and Felassan.”

He studied her in bemusement. No one had ever called him ‘cute’ before. “It’s not simply a romance novel. It is–”

“—an accurate portrayal of courtship norms from sixty years ago, I know,” she said with a smile. “And I promise to read it from a very anthropological perspective.”

He eyed her suspiciously. Her expression was earnest, and he didn’t think she was teasing him anymore, but he couldn’t be entirely sure. “Good. Thank you.”

She nodded but didn’t make any moves to leave his office, and he studied her curiously; she was nibbling her lip and studying the cover of the book, and her cheeks were still pink.

She looked up at him again. “Have you recommended this book to any other women?”

His heart seized as though a large hand had squeezed it. Her question was a fair one, particularly since the answer was no. But her question made him wonder _why_ was she asking specifically if he had recommended it to other women. Perhaps she was asking because she would trust another woman’s opinion of this book more than his opinion. This was a legitimate point, since she might notice certain aspects of the book that he failed to see because of his gender.

The more he thought about it, however, the more he had to wonder: why _had_ he recommended this particular book to Athera? It had never occurred to him before to recommend it to any of the women he had dated.

Not that he and Athera were dating, as that would be — well, not inappropriate, but… _fenedhis,_ why had his thoughts gone down this unprofessional avenue?

He shunted the unnerving thoughts aside. “No,” he said. “I haven’t recommended this book to anyone other than Solas and Felassan, and now to you.”

“Why — um, why did you recommend it to me?” she asked tentatively. “Me specifically, I mean?”

His heart stopped again for a split second. She was asking him the exact question he’d been asking himself a moment ago. 

Feeling slightly defensive now, he folded his arms. “Because I didn’t believe anyone else would appreciate as you will.”

She beamed at him, and he relaxed a bit. It was a good-sounding answer, certainly. He just wasn’t sure if it was true. 

“That’s — wow, that’s really nice,” she chirped. “I really hope I like this book so I can give you a glowing review.”

“I do not need a glowing review,” he said. “Just an honest one.”

She chuckled. “Got it. Okay, well…” She took a small step toward the door and ran her fingers along her braid once more. “I’ll get back to work then. Thanks for the book.”

He tore his gaze from her hair back to her face. “You are welcome.”

She pulled a little face. “You’re wondering about my hair, right?”

His gut twisted. He hadn’t meant to stare. “I — yes, I noticed it is different today.”

“I know, it looks terrible,” she lamented. “I didn’t have time to wash it last night so I just had to get it all out of my face, you know how it is.”

“It does not look terrible,” he said without thinking.

Her eyebrows jumped up. “It — really?”

“It looks…” Truthfully, she looked beautiful. Not that she didn’t always look beautiful, but seeing her exposed neck was… He hadn’t expected it.

“It looks perfectly appropriate,” he finally said. “It does not look terrible.” 

She relaxed and let out a little laugh. “Okay, well, that’s a relief. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later–”

He held up a hand. “One final thing while you are here. Perhaps we should schedule a recurring lunch date and time for the Elvhen translation.”

She perked up. “Really? You’re still okay with doing that?”

“Yes,” he said. “Is there a reason I wouldn’t be?”

“No no,” she said quickly, “I just — I was worried I’d be taking up too much of your time.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “As I told you yesterday, it is a good use of time. Improving your Elvhen language will have both professional and personal benefits.”

Her eyes widened. “Personal benefits?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “You will actually be able to enjoy all the Elvhen books I have recommended.”

She blinked at him, then chuckled. “You’re really concerned that I’m not enjoying those books, aren’t you?”

“I am concerned that they might all be going over your head,” he agreed. He approached the whiteboard calendar on the wall and studied it for a moment before turning to her with a frown. “Would you be agreeable to Fridays at noon?”

“Yeah, Fridays at noon would be great!” she said happily.

He nodded. “Good. We can start this week, on the twenty-fifth.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re okay with starting this week?”

“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all,” she said brightly. “I just thought _you_ might not want to start this week since I already took up one of your lunch hours this week. But this is good! I’d like to have lunch with you again this week.”

His belly did a strange flip, like a little fish-leap of surprise in his stomach. He stared at her, and once again, her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

“I mean, I – for translation,” she stammered. “To translate. And I have a lot of stuff to translate. A whole big list. So yes, this Friday would be great!”

He tilted his head. “Why do you have a whole list if you were using the dictionary I lent you?”

Her eyes went wide once more. “I tried my best, I swear I did! But it’s the metaphors and idioms that don’t–”

“Be calm, Athera,” he said gently. “I was making a jest.”

She gaped at him, then grinned. “A jest? That’s not very professional.”

He huffed. “I suppose not. Friday at noon, then?”

“Yes, that would be great.”

He nodded and began adding her name to his whiteboard calendar. When he was finished, he looked up to find her smiling at him in a way that made his heart thump.

As soon as he met her gaze, she straightened. “Um, nothing,” she chirped. “I’ll see you later.” She shot him a swift grin, then left his office and closed the door. 

He gazed pensively at the closed door for a moment, then returned to his desk and picked up his pen. He finished writing the critical comment on the paper he’d been grading before Athera’s arrival, then set the paper aside and selected the next one. 

He began to read the introductory section, but he was having difficulty focusing. Instead of taking in the words on the page, his mind only seemed capable of conjuring one thought — no, not a fully-formed thought, but an image: the delicate line of Athera’s neck. The delicate tawny skin of her neck as it blended into the vibrant chocolate-coloured lushness of her hair. Not just her neck, in fact, but her fingers: the way her fingers kept gliding over the braid along her hairline as though she meant to tuck her hair behind her ear, but found an unexpected braid instead of a familiar loose lock of hair… 

He sat back in his chair with a sigh. If his mind was determined to ponder intrusive thoughts of Athera instead of his work, he might as well take a dedicated moment to think about her in the hopes that his focus might return once he was done. 

Why _was_ he was having so many intrusive thoughts about Athera? Intrusive and inappropriate, really, since she was his colleague. Although technically, from an entirely rational and legal perspective, his thoughts about Athera were not truly inappropriate, since it was not against university regulations for colleagues to be romantically involved as long as there was no direct conflict of interest. 

He supposed, then, that the quandary was not an ethical one, but an emotional one. When exactly had Abelas become romantically interested in Athera? 

He frowned at his desk. He blamed those lunches for this. Leaving the office at lunchtime, engaging in idle non-work-related chatter with a beautiful woman who happened to share his intellectual interests, being muddled by a soporifically large lunch that forced him to abandon his usual discipline: those lunches were almost like a trap, a perfect trap in which Abelas had allowed himself to become ensnared. 

Somehow, entirely against his will, he had become ensnared by Athera, his bubbly, intelligent, and much-younger colleague. 

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. This was entirely unplanned. He had neither expected nor intended to become entangled with anyone who wasn’t from Arlathan. Truthfully, he hadn’t even thought it was possible for him to find enough in common with a foreign woman to be interested in her romantically. But despite Athera’s Dalish background and her undeniable youth, there was something about her academic sharpness and her traditional manners that felt familiar and comfortable to him — as familiar and comfortable as his copy of _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ , which he had lent to her. 

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Lending her his favourite romance novel… He couldn’t hide from his own intentions any longer. He knew exactly why he’d lent that book to her. He could just imagine what Felassan would say if he knew. Felassan would most certainly taunt him, saying that he might as well have done some overblown Orlesian gesture such as serenading her outside of her bedroom window. 

Athera didn’t seem to entirely recognize Abelas’s intention, however. She seemed to suspect it, considering her line of questioning about the book, but he was fairly sure he’d managed to deflect her for now. 

Which was likely for the best, particularly since Abelas wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to pursue Athera any further.

He opened his eyes and frowned unseeingly at the paper on his desk. Truly, he felt like a clueless adolescent right now. It had been years since he’d felt this torn and confused about a romantic situation — not since he’d begun to date at the relatively late age of twenty-six, after leaving the military. He supposed this was the consequence of not dating anyone in several years; one’s confidence deteriorated with lack of practice. 

If he was feeling the way he used to feel when he’d first begun to date, he supposed he could always do what he used to do when he was uncertain about a romantic situation. 

He stood up from his chair, then smoothed a hand over his braid and went to speak to Solas.

###  SOLAS 

Solas rubbed his forehead tiredly. It was only eleven-thirty, but he was feeling as fatigued as though it was four o’clock. He’d slept rather poorly last night, too distracted and riled up from his forbidden phone call with Nare to get a full night’s sleep. Then he’d taught a rather dense fourth-year history lecture at nine o’clock before coming to his office, only to find _this_ email in his inbox.

He gazed balefully at the email. It was from Vivienne de Fer, the dean of the faculty of arts and science. He and Abelas had been negotiating with her for years now to get exclusive excavation rights for the University of Arlathan to the temple ruins in the Arbour Wilds, against vocal opposition from one of the history professors: a human archeologist named Morrigan who liked to call herself an expert in ancient Elvhen studies. 

Abelas and Solas had managed to maintain a functional — if occasionally passive-aggressive — working relationship with Vivienne over the years, but their relationship with Morrigan was considerably more contentious. Morrigan was not privy to their deal with Vivienne, but she clearly suspected that Solas and Abelas had intentions for the Arbour Wilds ruins, and had been trying for years to stonewall them with whatever means were at her disposal. Unfortunately for Solas and Abelas, Morrigan could be quite persuasive and canny. This time, it seemed that she’d found some obscure university regulation that meant, once again, that Solas or Abelas — or even both of them — would get embroiled in a number of meetings and email chains to sort out the manufactured problem before they could straighten out their deal with Vivienne and return to their usual activities. 

He sighed and took off his reading glasses, then rubbed his eyes to try and wake himself up. A moment later, someone knocked on his office door. 

His heart leapt. _Nare?_ he thought instantly. Then he just as quickly discarded the thought. There was no reason for Nare to come and see him on a Wednesday, not even if he was secretly fantasizing about her dropping by his office unexpectedly to follow up on their phone call from the previous night. 

_Stop thinking of her,_ he scolded himself. Truly, the last person he should be thinking about was Nare, given what they’d done last night. 

_Nare’s pleading voice panting in his ear…_ A rush of heat bloomed between his legs, but he forced himself to push the thoughts aside. He opened his mouth to tell his visitor to come in, but before he could speak, the door opened.

Felassan wandered in with a smile and a cup of coffee in his hand. “ _Greetings on this idyllic September day,_ ” he announced in Elvhen. “What are you doing right now?”

Solas glanced out of the window at the grim and rainy weather, then turned back to Felassan with a raised eyebrow. “I am working. Or trying to, in any case. What brings you here? I don’t believe you’re teaching today, are you?”

“Not today, no,” Felassan said. “This is a purely social call. Get your coat and umbrella, let’s go for lunch.”

“Lunch?” Solas said in surprise. “It’s not yet noon.”

“I know. I’m a daring rebel that way,” Felassan said loftily. He sat on the corner of Solas’s desk and gave him a wheedling look. “Come on, leave your scathing art reviews behind for a moment and come out with your favourite ex-protégé.”

Solas smiled faintly. “Truthfully, I would like to, but I can’t in good conscience. I’ve done nothing of note since I sat down about twenty minutes ago.”

Felassan tutted. “Lacking focus, are you? That’s a shame. I suppose I’ll just have to wait until you’ve gotten some work done.” He pushed away from Solas’s desk and draped himself on the couch.

Solas eyed him curiously. “You haven’t got work of your own to do?”

“Not at the moment,” he said. “I’m ahead of schedule on one project and waiting for feedback on another.”

“Ah, I see,” Solas said. “If you’re bored, I can easily find something for you to do. Perhaps you’d care to grade some papers for me?”

Felassan smirked. “You’re hilarious. Really. But I’m not bored, in fact. I just thought I would use my free time to visit.”

“I see,” Solas said. “Well, I do need to focus on my emails for a moment.”

“Suit yourself,” Felassan said. He pulled out his phone and started scrolling around, humming softly to himself as he did, and Solas watched him from the corner of his eye for a moment. 

“You are especially chipper today,” he said finally.

“My coffee is especially good today,” Felassan replied. 

“Hm,” Solas said, but he wasn’t convinced. Felassan’s lips were curled with the sort of little smile he wore when he was particularly pleased or amused by something.

Solas sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “All right. Tell me.”

Felassan glanced at him. “Tell you what?”

“The real reason you’re here,” Solas said. “You sought my company for a reason. I’m listening.”

Felassan chuckled and put his phone away. “ _The Dread Wolf guides me?_ ” he said in Elvhen.

“ _The Dread Wolf grows weary of this prevarication,_ ” Solas replied dryly. “Speak, Felassan.”

“All right, all right, since you asked so nicely,” he said. He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “I met someone.”

Solas blinked; this wasn’t what he’d expected Felassan to say. “I beg your pardon?”

“I met someone,” Felassan said. “A woman. Maybe you’ve heard about her already. Has Nare mentioned her roommate Tamaris to you?”

His heart seized at the mention of Nare. “Tamaris,” he said blankly. “I — yes, I believe Nare has mentioned her in passing. But I know little about her. Nare and I haven’t often discussed personal matters.” He maintained a completely straight face at the lie, knowing far too well that Felassan would sniff out even a hint of gossip or controversy.

Fortunately, Felassan didn’t seem to suspect Solas of anything. “She’s marvelous,” he said. “She is sarcastic and bad-tempered, and she often tells me that I’m full of shit.”

Solas gaped at him, then snorted a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

Felassan was chuckling. “I’m dead serious. It’s refreshing. She’s blunt and she speaks her mind. She’s wickedly clever and kind. You would find her bluntness entertaining, I think.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Solas said, both amused and bemused by Felassan’s description as well as his ebullience. Felassan held few people in high esteem. This Tamaris must really be quite unusual to have captured his eye. 

“I’d like you to meet her,” Felassan said, to Solas’s great surprise. “Don’t you usually host a start-of-the-year lab party by this time?”

“I do, yes,” Solas said, a little guiltily. He did usually host a casual potluck at his apartment at the start of the school for the members of their lab, but he’d been so distracted this year.

Nare’s cheeky smile crossed his mind, and for the dozenth time today, he pushed aside his thoughts of her. “You’re right,” he said to Felassan. “I should arrange a get-together soon. But I’m surprised you’re asking about this.” He lifted his chin slightly. “I thought you had had enough of this lab and our company.”

Felassan dismissively waved one hand. “Oh please, save the passive-aggression for your academic debates. I’m perfectly happy to engage in some well-earned revelry with my part-time colleagues.”

Solas gave him a knowing look. “By which you mean you’re hoping I still have a few bottles of Arlathani port in my private stock.”

“Do you?” Felassan asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Excellent,” he said brightly. “Then I’ll happily come to your lab party, and I’ll bring Tamaris as my plus-one. If she’ll agree to come, that is.”

Solas lifted his eyebrows. “Your partner might not agree to come?”

“She’s not my partner. Not yet, at least, though I’m hopeful,” Felassan said. “I do think I could persuade her into coming, though.”

Solas stared at him. This woman he’d been waxing poetic about wasn’t his partner?

He peered at Felassan carefully. “Should I be concerned?”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Concerned about what?”

“This woman you met that you seem quite fond of, but who isn’t your partner.” He gave Felassan a chiding look. “If this woman is part of some kind of caper…”

Felassan rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, you know I don’t indulge in so-called ‘capers’ anymore. Not even the edible kind. I’m simply…” He trailed off with a little smile, and Solas’s eyes widened.

“Are you in love?” he asked. He’d known Felassan since he was a teenager, and in all that time, Felassan had never professed himself to be in love with anyone.

“Not exactly,” Felassan said, “but… ah, there’s a flowery literary term for it, but it’s escaping me right now.”

Solas raised a quizzical eyebrow, but another knock on the door interrupted them. 

Solas’s foolish mind instantly jumped to Nare. _Fenedhis,_ he thought in exasperation. “Come in,” he called out. 

Abelas opened the door, and his eyes flicked over to Felassan. “Ah. I see that you’re otherwise occupied.”

“Abelas!” Felassan said cheerfully. “Just the person I needed. What’s that literary trope they use in romance novels where two people meet and the audience instantly knows they’ll fall in love even though they know nothing about each other?”

“‘ _Athdhea’lath_ ’,” Abelas said promptly. “‘The dawn of love’.”

Felassan snapped his fingers. “‘ _Athdhea’lath!_ ’ That’s the one.”

“That is not a trope, however,” Abelas told him. “It refers to a classic literary technique for establishing a relationship in works of fiction.”

“Exactly,” Felassan said. “It’s a trope. A recurring literary theme.”

“The word ‘trope’ refers to the use of figurative language, not to recurrent literary themes,” Abelas retorted.

Felassan scoffed and stretched his legs out on the couch. “Sure, if you’re using outdated terminology.”

Abelas scowled at him, and Solas interjected before they could start squabbling. “Did you want to discuss this email from Vivienne?” he asked Abelas.

Abelas turned to him with a frown. “What email?”

Solas blinked, surprised that he hadn’t seen it. “It is an update about the situation with the Arbour Wilds. I thought this was why you came to speak to me.”

Abelas pursed his lips. “I regret to admit that I haven’t seen it yet. I came to speak to you about something else.”

“Ah,” Solas said. “All right. What is it?”

Abelas shot Felassan a sideways look, and Felassan raised his eyebrows. “What did I do now?”

“Nothing this time,” Abelas said. His expression was becoming speculative. “In fact, perhaps I could use your counsel as well.” He closed the door and looked at Solas. “What are your opinions on romantic partnerships within the lab?”

For a split second, Solas’s heart stopped. He forced his expression to remain neutral. “Why do you ask?”

“Yes, why _do_ you ask?” Felassan said with a grin.

Abelas folded his arms. “Let’s call it a hypothetical inquiry for now.”

“Well, you know the university’s official stance on such relationships,” Solas said. “They’re permissible as long as there is no conflict of interest between the involved parties.” _Conflicts such as supervising the woman you are lusting after,_ he thought sadly.

“Of course, but I am asking beyond that,” Abelas said. “Suppose that there were two parties for whom there is no conflict of interest. Do you think such liaisons are unwise?”

Felassan raised a hand. “If I’m here to give my opinion, I think it depends on the particularities of the situation.”

“I agree,” Solas said. “It would depend on the particularities. Which parties are you thinking of?”

Abelas frowned and ran his hand over his braid, then seated himself in one of the chairs facing Solas’s desk and replied in Elvhen. “ _I am unsure whether it would be wise to become involved with someone in the lab._ ”

Solas stared at him in surprise, then switched to Elvhen as well. “ _For you to become involved with someone?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ”

Solas’s eyes darted to Felassan, but Felassan was just smirking and looking not at all surprised. _Of course he already knows who Abelas is interested in,_ Solas thought with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. 

He looked at Abelas once more. “ _Who are you considering getting involved with?_ ”

Abelas frowned and didn’t reply, but Felassan spoke up from his lazy pose on the couch. “ _There’s only one person in this lab that he doesn’t have a conflict of interest with._ ”

Solas’s eyes widened in recognition. “Athera?”

Abelas shot Felassan a resentful look, and Felassan shrugged and folded his arms behind his head. “ _Don’t give me that look. I’m just following the logic._ ”

Solas gave Abelas a quizzical look. “ _I thought you weren’t fond of Athera._ ”

“ _With time and consideration, I have changed my mind,_ ” Abelas said stiffly.

“ _I see,_ ” Solas said. “ _What is your question, then? If you should pursue a romantic liaison with her?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ”

Solas lifted his shoulders. “ _Unfortunately, I’m not sure that I can advise you on this. It’s up to you to decide._ ”

Abelas frowned. “ _You truly have no feelings about romantically pursuing someone in the lab? Particularly someone who is considerably younger?_ ”

Solas’s gut twisted with longing, but he ignored it. “ _I think you have sound judgment when it comes to matters of your own heart,_ ” he said. “ _You have always been careful in that respect. I can’t imagine any reason why that would be different just because Athera is a member of the lab._ ”

Felassan spoke up again. “ _She’s single, for what that’s worth._ ”

Abelas whipped around to stare at him. “ _How do you know that?_ ”

“ _It came up in conversation,_ ” he said.

“ _In conversation?_ ” Abelas demanded.

“ _Yes,_ ” Felassan said. “ _You know, a mutual back-and-forth where two people discuss topics of interest–_ ”

Abelas interrupted him. “ _Athera told you she is single?_ ”

“ _Not in so many words, but I know she is._ ”

Abelas opened his mouth then closed it, and Felassan chuckled. “ _Go on, ask whatever you were going to ask. It’s been a long time since I got to indulge in any office gossip._ ”

Abelas scowled. “ _This is not gossip. It’s…_ ”

Solas couldn’t resist. “ _Research?_ ”

“ _Yes. No!_ ” Abelas blurted. “ _No. I…_ ” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“ _Well, I can tell you this,_ ” Felassan said. “ _She’s single, and she enjoyed having lunch with you._ ”

Abelas looked up at him. “ _Did she tell you that?_ ”

Solas jumped in. “ _You had lunch with Athera?_ ”

“ _You didn’t know?_ ” Felassan asked.

“ _Apparently not,_ ” Solas said. He looked at Abelas in surprise. “ _Was that your unavoidable lunch yesterday?_ ”

Felassan sat up on the couch. “ _You went for lunch with her again yesterday?_ ”

Solas stared at him. “ _What do you mean, again? There was a first lunch? When was that?_ ”

Felassan grinned. “ _That was weeks ago. Where have you been?_ ”

“ _Enough,_ ” Abelas exclaimed. “ _I need a moment of peace._ ” He rubbed his forehead, and Solas gave Felassan a tiny smile, which Felassan returned with a wink.

After a moment of silence, Abelas looked up at Solas once more. “ _You truly do not feel that this is inadvisable, given our ultimate plans?_ ”

“ _What do you mean?_ ” Solas said.

Felassan sighed and laid back down on the couch. “ _He means your plans to pack up and run back home with your exclusive rights to the Well of Sorrows as soon as your contracts are up._ ”

“ _Ah,_ ” Solas said. “ _I suppose that could complicate matters._ ”

“ _Not if you don’t return to Arlathan,_ ” Felassan said. “ _Just a thought._ ”

Solas sighed quietly. He wasn’t keen to revisit this argument again. Meanwhile, Abelas was frowning at Felassan. “ _We have a duty to return,_ ” he said stiffly.

“ _A duty to whom?_ ” Felassan said.

“ _A duty to Mythal._ ”

Felassan gave him an exasperated look. “ _She’s dead, and her wishes were based on outdated notions of who we are,_ ” he said in the manner of someone stating something for the thousandth time. “ _If you don’t want to pursue this Well of Sorrows business—_ ”

“ _It is not a matter of ‘want’_ ,” Abelas said in a hard tone. “ _It is a matter of what’s right. The Well of Sorrows is ours._ ”

“ _We’re not the only ones who can benefit from it,_ ” Felassan said in a bored tone as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

“ _It is our heritage!_ ” Abelas snapped. “ _All that we are, all that we were: that site is minefield of information, and the Orlesians would steal it from us with their grasping fingers._ ”

“ _I’m not suggesting that you give up the Well of Sorrows,_ ” Felassan said. “ _I’m just suggesting that maybe the information would have value to more elves than just the ones in Arlathan._ ”

He wasn’t even looking at Abelas anymore; his attention was on his phone. Abelas, meanwhile, was straightening up with indignation. “ _You don’t understand,_ ” he said to Felassan.

Felassan gave him a careless glance. “ _What don’t I understand?_ ”

“ _This is a matter of loyalty and responsibility,_ ” Abelas said.

Felassan looked up with a pleasant smile. “ _Virtues that you don’t think I possess._ ”

“ _You do possess them,_ ” Abelas said. “ _Just not in the same capacity as Solas and I._ ”

Felassan let out a biting little laugh. “ _As far as insults go, that was almost subtle. I’m impressed._ ”

“ _That is enough,_ ” Solas said quietly.

They both fell silent. Abelas dropped his gaze to his lap while Felassan looked at the wall in a would-be casual manner, and Solas waited for a moment before speaking again. 

“ _Abelas: if you are interested in pursuing Athera romantically, there is no legal or ethical reason not to do so,_ ” he said. “ _Moving forward, I would suggest that you ask Felassan for advice rather than me, given that he is actually involved with someone._ ”

Abelas looked at Felassan, who was tapping at his phone again. “ _You are?_ ”

“ _I am, actually,_ ” Felassan said without looking up. 

“ _I wasn’t aware,_ ” Abelas said.

“ _You’re too busy for non-work-related conversations,_ ” Felassan retorted.

“ _Don’t be petty,_ ” Solas said. “ _You only just told me._ ”

Felassan smirked at him. “ _True. Consider me chastised._ ”

A beat of awkward silence ensued. Then Abelas glanced at Felassan. “ _When… How long have you been… involved?_ ”

Felassan widened his eyes. “ _Was that a personal question? During work hours?_ ”

Abelas scowled, and Solas sighed. “Felassan…”

“ _All right, all right,_ ” Felassan said with a chuckle. “ _I met Tamaris about three weeks ago now._ ”

Abelas’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Tamaris? Athera’s roommate?_ ”

“ _That’s the one,_ ” he said. “ _Has Athera spoken of her?_ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” Abelas said. “ _She…_ ” He trailed off with a frown.

Felassan grinned. “ _What? Are you going to share gossip with me now?_ ”

“ _It is not gossip,_ ” Abelas said primly. “ _It is an observation._ ”

“ _What’s the observation?_ ” Felassan said curiously.

Abelas pursed his lips, then gave Felassan a flat look. “ _Athera has joked that Tamaris is similar in manner to me._ ”

Solas cleared his throat and rubbed his mouth to hide his smile. Felassan, meanwhile, was scoffing. “ _That’s not fair. It’s not completely baseless, I suppose, but still unfair._ ”

Abelas raised an eyebrow. “ _Now I am beginning to feel that I’m being insulted._ ”

“ _You are being insulted,_ ” Felassan said. “ _Tamaris is far prettier than you._ ”

Abelas huffed in amusement. Felassan grinned at him, and Solas fondly regarded them both. He truly couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had been in the same room together for more than five minutes, what with Abelas getting increasingly bogged down by his work and Felassan not working in close proximity with either of them anymore. 

He leaned back in his chair and spoke to them in the common tongue. “Perhaps we should go for lunch after all. Abelas, would you make an exception for us?”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have—” 

“—too much work to do, and a nutrition shake waiting in your office,” Felassan intoned. “We know.”

Abelas shot him an annoyed look, but Solas pushed on. “Surely a half-hour wouldn’t go amiss.”

Abelas shook his head and stood up. “I can’t. This has already been an inefficient use of time.”

Felassan gave Solas a wounded look. “I think that was a direct hit at you and me.”

Solas was undaunted. “Half an hour,” he said firmly. “Felassan can bring something in, and we will eat here in my office.”

Felassan _tsk_ ed. “Since when did I get volunteered to bring something in?”

“Since you showed up here with free time for a purely social call,” Solas replied smoothly. 

Felassan scoffed and rose from the couch. “See if I ever visit you again.”

Solas smiled faintly at him, then gave Abelas an expectant look. Abelas sighed. “Fine,” he said bad-temperedly. “But if I end up speaking about work-related issues during this lunch, _he_ is not allowed to complain,” he said with a pointed look at Felassan.

“Who, me?” Felassan exclaimed. “I never complain. You, on the other hand…”

Abelas grunted and headed for the door. “Come fetch me when you return.”

Felassan barked out a laugh. “I’ll do no such thing. I’ll text you when I get back with the food.”

Abelas frowned. “But I will be just down the hall.”

“Exactly,” he said.

Abelas shook his head in annoyance and left. Once he was gone, Felassan sighed contentedly and turned to Solas. “What about you, then?”

“What about me?” Solas said.

“Any plans to start dating anytime soon?” Felassan asked.

Yet again, Nare’s coy and heated smile flashed across his mind – her flirtatious and forbidden smile that he absolutely should not be longing to see again.

“No such plans for me, I’m afraid,” he said, quite truthfully. He really wasn’t planning to get involved with Nare, because to do such a thing would be a gross violation of the exact regulations he’d been reminding Abelas about.

But somehow, when it came to Nare, none of Solas’s plans thus far seemed to be going the way he meant them to.

Felassan tilted his head appraisingly. “It’s been a very long time for you.”

“I could say the same for you,” Solas pointed out.

“You could not,” Felassan said. “I’ve dated people since we moved here.”

“Not seriously,” Solas said. “In fact, I don’t think you have ever been so serious about anyone you dated.” He raised his eyebrows knowingly. “ _Athdhea’lath?_ Very romantic.”

Felassan smiled and tucked his hands in his pockets. “I suppose when the romantic mood finally strikes, it strikes hard.”

“Not unlike a slow arrow,” Solas said.

Felassan laughed. “Exactly.”

Solas chuckled. “Well, I am pleased for you. And I look forward to meeting her.”

Felassan inclined his head politely. “As do I.”

Solas smiled at his former student, and Felassan wandered casually toward the door. “All right. Off I go to buy lunch for reasons that are only weakly defensible.”

“Thank you,” Solas said, and he picked up his reading glasses. “Close the door behind you.”

Felassan scoffed. “ _Fenedhis lasa._ ”

Solas grinned, and Felassan returned his grin before closing the door. Alone once more, Solas put his reading glasses on and tapped his mouse to wake up his monitor. 

The email from Vivienne appeared on his screen. Irritated, Solas minimized the window and pulled up the editorial piece he was writing. But instead of focusing on the piece, he leaned back in his chair and thought ruefully of Felassan and Abelas. 

He envied them. Perhaps it was petty to feel this way, but he truly envied their ability to pursue the women they liked without any concerns of repercussion. If Solas was to interact with Nare in a suggestive manner, the consequences would be severe.

If he interacted suggestively with her in a public setting, that is. In private, that ship had long sailed, unfortunately.

_Nare’s panting voice, her soft moans travelling through the phone into his ear_ … An unstoppable flush of heat warmed his belly and his cheeks. Exasperated with himself, Solas took his glasses off again and rubbed his forehead. How in the world was he supposed to cope with seeing her tomorrow?

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He couldn’t bring up what had happened last night, not under any circumstances. He owed her that — the ability to meet professionally with her supervisor without worrying that he would come on to her. So at all costs, Solas couldn’t bring up their torrid conversation or the joy and pleasure she’d brought him by speaking so intimately to him on the phone.

If Nare happened to bring it up, however, Solas had to know what he would say to her. He had to know how he was going to respond. 

Not that there was really any question as to how he _should_ respond. When it came to what was decent and right, Solas had no choice: he had to turn her down. Any other choice could ruin both of them, and if Solas’s position here was compromised, it could ruin everything he and Abelas had worked for during the last five years in Orlais. Solas couldn’t let one singular woman interfere with all of that, even if that woman was a better match for his mind and his spirit than he had ever dared to dream. Even if that woman seemed to recognize and welcome the parts of himself that he’d been hiding for so long. 

No, he most certainly could not cast aside more than five years’ worth of work for one stunning, sensual, bold and brilliant woman – no matter how much he might want to. 

That was it, then. He had to say ‘no’ to Nare. If she brought up the possibility of something blooming between them — not to say she would bring it up, but _if_ she did — then Solas had to say no, and that was the end of it. 

He took a deep breath, then sat forward and clicked on his mouse with fresh determination. _You can do this,_ he told himself sternly. _You can say ‘no’ to Nare._

But he hadn’t said ‘no’ to her yesterday. When he was presented with Nare’s soft and husky voice in his ear, he hadn’t been capable of saying ‘no’. And now, now that she had heard him selfishly indulging himself to the sound of her voice, now that he had heard her gasping in his ear and begging him to do exactly what he wanted to badly to do… 

_Please, professor. I want you to fuck me._

A roar of heat tore through his body: that same heat that always rose in tandem with the rebellious and reckless part of his mind — that part of his mind that didn’t _want_ to say no. That part of his mind that wanted to take exactly what Nare was offering, and that only Nare had every truly brought to life. 

Defeated by his own relentless desires, Solas slumped his elbows on the table and rubbed his face. _Fenedhis,_ he needed time to think. He… he needed to think about this. About what he should do, and how he would force himself to turn away the woman he wanted more than he’d wanted anything in years.

More, even, then he wanted to fulfill Mythal’s final wishes. 

He sat with his head in his hands for a long minute, cursing himself and his circumstances and his unshakeable longing. By tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, when Nare came to his office, Solas needed to figure out how he was going to cope with the magnetic pull of her presence and the nearly-palpable current of longing that was thickening between them with every passing day.

Solas needed to figure out how exactly he was going to say ‘no’ to Nare, when the only thing he wanted to say to her was ‘yes’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [squints] Non-romantic plot with Mythal and Arbour Wilds? Don’t look too closely at it. It’s not intended to be that important on its own, honestly. 😂
> 
> The next 3-4 chapters will be exclusively Solas and Nare, because, like, LOOK AT THEM. SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE. 🥵 😂😂
> 
> Your devoted writer is [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your wonderful artist is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	21. Indomitable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll answer comments as soon as I can! But let me just say I LOVE YOU GUYS and our horny little Ancient Elf Boyband-loving community here!! 😂
> 
> For this chapter, I imagine that Nare's hair looks [ like this.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/571412701209952266/780102055083507752/hair-how-to-side-fishtail-braid-upstyle-1.png)

###  NARE 

Nare stared at her face in the bathroom mirror. Her stomach felt like it was vibrating with nerves, and her fingers were trembling slightly as she twisted her hair into a loose fishtail braid that would lay over her shoulder.

It was Thursday morning — the morning that Nare had been waiting for with increasing anticipation and anxiety since that torrid Tuesday night. She’d never been so nervous to meet Solas, not even for their first supervisor meeting after she’d flirted with him at the bar. Not that her heightened nerves were baseless, given the memories that kept playing at the front of her mind: Solas making her climax by talking all low and intimate in her ear… Solas breathing heavily into the phone until he came, making that glorious groaning noise that pulled Nare into a second peak… 

Solas telling her, in a heartbreakingly soft voice, that he did not want to hurt her. 

A rush of desire and fear pulsed in her chest, and she dragged in a breath to calm herself. This meeting felt extremely high-stakes somehow, almost as though the outcome of this meeting would define their relationship, and Nare was literally quivering at the possibility of the outcome not going her way. It almost felt like she was standing on a tightrope and trying to convince Solas to join her, to convince him that walking on this tightrope would be okay even though there was no safety net underneath, and she was desperate to bring him around. 

Despite the regulations and the risks, the danger to his career and to her degree, Nare _knew_ he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. And she was desperate to convince Solas, for once and for all, to sleep with her. 

She genuinely understood his concerns about their illicit behaviour. And truly, if she was being honest, she knew that she should be a lot more concerned about the consequences of her own behaviour. But the more time she spent with Solas, the more he talked to her and texted her and taught her in his gorgeous patient voice, the less she cared about consequences and the more she just wanted to _be_ with him. 

And after Tuesday night, after the scorching intimacy they’d shared over the phone, Nare couldn’t bear the thought of any possibility other than being with him. 

She continued plaiting her hair, fastening the braid loosely at the end and tousling the front part of her hair a bit, then critically studied herself in the mirror. She’d dressed very carefully for this meeting: a fitted sweater and a flowy calf-length skirt that were flattering but not at all revealing. Her makeup was similarly flattering but subtle, enough for Nare to feel pretty but not enough to be obvious to the average man. 

She took another deep and bracing breath, then stepped out of the bathroom and made her way to the main room. She put on her coat and scarf and her heeled boots, then grabbed her bag and headed down the stairs. She stepped out into the blustery fall weather and made her way to the university, and as she walked, she reminded herself of her action plan for the thousandth time.

She needed to behave very carefully during this meeting. Solas was a good man, a good professor who was trying so hard to resist her relentless flirtation, and after the phone sex they’d had, Nare knew she needed to back off a little bit. She’d been so shameless on the phone, so needy and wanton, and now she needed to remind him that she valued their professional relationship just as much as the intimacy that was growing between them. She needed him to know that their student-supervisor relationship would come first, and that sleeping together wouldn’t affect their professional relationship in any way. If Nare wanted to seduce Solas for once and for all, she needed to be completely professional during this meeting.

If Nare wanted to seduce Solas, she needed to do everything in her power to _not_ seduce him.

###  SOLAS 

Solas paced slowly from his desk to the office door. When he was at the door, he turned around and slowly made his way back to the desk, only to repeat the loop once more.

He was nervous. Almost anxious, in fact. He knew his plan, knew what he was going to avoid saying to Nare and what he _would_ say if she brought up the topic of the phone sex, but he was nervous nonetheless. When Nare knocked on his door ten minutes early, he was frankly relieved to be pulled out of his own thoughts. 

He opened the door to let her in. “Nare,” he greeted.

She smiled at him, but her eyebrows were slightly raised. “Hi,” she said. “I didn’t expect you to open the door.” 

“I was stretching my legs, so I was already on my feet,” he said, not untruthfully. “Please, come in.” He stood back to let her enter, and as she came into the room, he carefully studied her face and body for cues.

She looked… actually, she looked entirely calm, which was surprising. Surprising but good, he reminded himself. If she looked calm, that likely meant that nothing controversial would arise during this meeting. 

He closed the door and gestured politely at the couch. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks,” she said. She removed her coat and sat on the couch, and all the while, Solas was growing more and more bemused by her polite neutrality. 

_Don’t be bemused,_ he reminded himself. _Be pleased. This is the best case scenario._ He clasped his hands behind his back and launched straight into academic topics. “Did you finish reading the article about the interplay between art and anatomy?”

As soon as the words left his lips, he realized they were a mistake: that article was intrinsically tied to their erotic phone call. Solas had read to Nare from that article, twisting the intellectual content into something terribly illicit as he purred the words in her ear, and for him to bring it up now… 

His stomach writhed at the mistake, but Nare didn’t even bat an eye. “Yeah, I finished it,” she said. “Thanks for your help, by the way — your explaining was really helpful when I read it through a second time.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m pleased to have been helpful.” In truth, he was growing increasingly discomfited by her neutrality, and increasingly irritated with himself for being so discomfited. 

He started to slowly pace in front of his bookshelves once more. “Did you have any further questions about the article, or any of the other readings I assigned?”

“No, everything was clear,” she said. “Actually, the main thing I wanted to run past you today was an idea for my final thesis project.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised but genuinely interested by her change of topic. “Oh?”

She nodded and demurely crossed her knees. “I spent a chunk of time thinking about it yesterday while I was working on a study. I was thinking that the theme of the project could be transformation. Like, emotional transformation — the way people can, um, grow and change emotionally over time?”

Solas leaned against his desk, intrigued already by her idea. “An interesting notion, given your particular interest in capturing and evoking emotion in your art.”

She smiled and nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. “I was thinking that I could play with different media and different amounts of colour to show the transformation, as well as by capturing the emotional changes in my subjects’ faces. Especially since different media evoke different feelings, you know?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “I recall us discussing this a few weeks ago.”

“Exactly, that’s what I was thinking of,” she said. “So I was kind of thinking that for each subject, I would do a series of portraits to show the transformation over time. For example, if I did a triptych, the first portrait could be someone looking melancholy, and it would be in shades of grey using watercolours.”

He raised his eyebrows. “A monochromatic watercolour portrait? An excellent idea. That would show off your mastery of values in that medium as well.”

“Yes!” she said brightly. “That’s what I thought too.”

He smiled at her, pleased and a bit relieved to see her odd reserve giving way to her usual enthusiasm. She tucked a stray strand of hair over her ear. “So — um, so yes, that could be the first portrait. Then in the second portrait, the subject starts to become a bit hopeful, so I’d introduce more colours into the painting, like stylized colour accents or light accents, and maybe I’d use gouache for that one.”

Solas smiled at her. He saw exactly where she was going with this. “All right. And the final portrait in the series?”

Her smile widened as well, as though she could see him mirroring her thoughts. “In the final portrait, the subject would be really joyful, and it would be full colour, in oils. Really vibrant and happy, you know?”

He folded his arms in satisfaction. “I see exactly what you’re suggesting. And it is a very good idea.”

“Really?” she said eagerly. “You think it would work?”

“It will most certainly work,” he said. He pushed away from his desk and began pacing again, this time with thought rather than nerves. “It would be an excellent display of your skills. It will display your mastery of several media as well as your technical skills with colour, shadow and light, facial expressions and anatomy…” He nodded slowly. “It is an excellent idea, Nare. Both technically and conceptually excellent.”

She exhaled. “Okay, good. I’m a little nervous about it since it means I’ll really have to get my oil painting up to snuff.”

“You will,” Solas assured her. “You have been working hard on your oils, and I will help you with them as well.”

She nodded. “Starting next week Monday, right? At the graduate studio?”

“Yes,” he said. And once again, he was struck by her oddly businesslike manner. There was no coyness in her expression, no heated spark of hope in her eyes, no hints at wanting to come to his apartment… 

His long-held fantasy of teaching her in his home studio rose to his mind, leaving him with a pang of wistfulness, but he obviously declined to mention this. “Have you already begun to consider who your subjects might be?” he asked.

“Yes, I’ve got one in mind already, but…” She trailed off with a little laugh. “I’m not sure she’ll agree to be my subject.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why? Who is the subject you’re considering?”

“Tamaris,” Nare said.

“Tamaris?” His mind instantly went to Felassan and how enthusiastic he’d been about Nare’s friend. “What inspires you to paint Tamaris for your final project?”

She dropped his gaze and brushed a hand over her braided hair. “I, um. I’m not sure I should say. It’s kind of personal for her. If she says yes to letting me paint her, then I’ll tell you for sure.”

“I understand,” he said quickly, and truly, he did. But Nare’s words instantly placed a boundary between them — a rightful boundary, and one he should be glad for. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang at the odd sensation of distance between them. 

They were both silent for a moment. As the silence stretched between them, Solas was acutely and unpleasantly aware that this was the first time he had ever felt awkward in Nare’s presence. 

He studied her with growing consternation. She was sitting so primly on his couch with her gaze fixed on her folded hands, and with every second of silence that ticked by, he began to wish that she would look at him. He wished that Nare would lift her chin and look at him with those beautiful cerulean eyes, eyes that were usually lit from within by so much emotion — mischief and humour and enthusiasm and lust, emotions that he loved seeing on her face, but that he shouldn’t be trying to evoke in her, even if he wanted to.

The silence ticked on, and Solas finally couldn’t bear it anymore. “Nare, do you—”

She spoke at the same time. “I was wondering if—”

They both stopped. Solas opened his mouth to speak, and at the same moment, Nare spoke again. “I took—” 

They both stopped again. Nare grinned at him, and something tight in his chest loosened a bit at the humour in her face.

He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “I apologize. Please, go ahead and speak.”

“I was just going to ask if I could get your opinion on the study I was working on yesterday,” she said. “I took a photo of it, if I can send it to you…?”

“Certainly,” he said. “In fact, I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m interested to see how you have been doing with the light values in your oils.”

“Okay, good, because that’s what I was working on,” she said as she pulled out her phone. “I just did a really simple lighting study with a face, showing the highlights with different angles of the light source.”

“That sounds like a good exercise,” he said. “Go ahead and email it to me.” He rounded his desk to sit in his chair, and by the time his reading glasses were on and his monitor was awake, Nare’s email had arrived in his inbox. 

He clicked the email and opened the image she’d sent him, then glanced over at her quizzically: she was still sitting on the couch, which was strange. She didn’t usually need an invitation to come around to his side of the desk so they could look at his screen together.

“Come closer, Nare,” he said. “Show me what you did.”

“Okay,” she said. She came to join him behind his desk, leaving about a foot of space between herself and his chair: an acutely noticeable foot of space, given that she’d recently gotten into the habit of leaning against his desk or even leaning against his chair, as though she wanted to touch him but wasn’t quite bold enough.

_It is fine,_ he thought. _This is for the best. It is better that she’s keeping a distance._ He ignored the subtle ache in his chest and gave her an expectant look. “Talk me through your study.”

“All right,” she said. “So it’s, um… well, I already said, but it’s just a practice of light and shadow on the face with adding the lighter values.” She smiled faintly. “It’s so weird adding the light values after the fact. Like the opposite of working in watercolour.”

“It is precisely the opposite, yes,” he said. “And this is a good start. Is there anything you need to work on further?”

She rested one hand on his desk and pointed at his screen. “I need to work on blending still. I know the highlight on the nose and the lower lip is still too harsh.” 

With her one hand resting on his desk, she was bent slightly at the waist. Suddenly he was visited by a fantasy of Nare bending over his desk in a considerably more sensual position. 

An unwelcome rush of desire flooded his mouth. _Stop,_ he scolded himself. He swallowed hard and leaned back in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on her face as he did. “How will you fix that?” he asked.

“I’m still getting used to the oil brushes and how stiff they are,” she said. “But I’ll keep working on it, maybe use a smaller brush, a different kind of blending technique.” 

“Good,” Solas said approvingly. “You identified the problems and the possible solutions on your own without my input.”

She shot him a sideways little smile, and his heart flipped; was she finally going to make one of her cheeky remarks? A second later, however, she straightened and tucked her hands into the pockets of her skirt. “I’m still glad you had a look at it for me. Thank you, Solas.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said quietly.

She shot him a little smile, then flicked her gaze back to his screen, and Solas was at a loss once more. Of all the ways he’d expected Nare to behave after their phone call the other night, this strange brand of blank non-reactivity was not at all what he’d expected.

Feeling utterly nonplussed now, he struggled to find something else to say about her study. “I see that you followed my advice to leave the study unfinished.”

She met his eye once more and gave him a half-smile. “I told you that I listen to everything you say.”

His heart seized. She’d said that to him on the phone two nights ago. Had she intended to provoke him with a reminder of their conversation? And was that finally a hint of warmth he detected in her face? She was acting so strange that he genuinely couldn’t tell. 

He studied Nare’s face intently, trying hard to suss out her intentions and her feelings. She steadily returned his gaze, and as Solas stared into her eyes, he _finally_ started to see what he’d both been hoping and dreading to see: her brilliant blue eyes were growing brighter, her ears becoming a little pinker, and as Solas watched, she began to nibble her lower lip the way she did when she was nervous or coy.

He hungrily watched the subtle changes in her face, the way her expression shifted slowly from its polite neutrality to a subtle and complicated sort of look that seemed to hover between wistfulness and sadness and hope. With every second that ticked by, his heart continued to pound, beating with an edgy sort of longing that bordered on near-panic.

Nare swallowed hard, then stepped away from his desk. “Well, um, that’s all I really had to talk about today, so I’ll get going.”

_Going?_ he thought stupidly. She was going to go? After such a short meeting, she was going to leave? 

He didn’t want her to leave. But if she had finished her business for the day, he had no reason to make her stay.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. He watched as she picked up her coat from the couch, and as she made her way toward the door of his office, Solas sat in his chair, frozen with dismay.

Nare approached the door and shifted her purse onto her shoulder, then reached for the doorknob, and Solas waited with an ache in his chest for her to open the door and walk away, leaving him alone in his office once more. 

But instead of opening the door, her hand hesitated over the doorknob.

She paused for a second. No, two seconds. Three seconds and counting… 

Solas waited breathlessly for her to move. When five seconds had gone by and Nare still hadn’t left his office, Solas released the breath he’d been holding. 

He inhaled slowly to calm his pounding heart. When a few more seconds went by with Nare making no move to open the door, Solas stood up from his chair.

Slowly and cautiously, giving her ample time to leave, he made his way over to the door to join her. She kept her gaze on the doorknob the whole time, not looking his way at all, and when he was standing a mere two feet away from her, he paused. 

She was still gazing at the doorknob. But now that he was close to her, standing right in front of her and close enough to touch, Solas realized that her breathing was fast. Her lips were parted slightly and her chest was rising and falling with silent but shallow breaths, and the pinkness of her ears had spread to her cheekbones.

A jolt of hope and lust and just a hint of rational _don’t-do-this_ rippled through his chest. He recognized the rapidity of her breathing and the flushing of her cheeks, knew what he _wanted_ her glowing cheeks to mean, but he didn’t dare to take anything for granted.

He took a tiny step closer to her, close enough that he was looming over her, and Nare straightened slightly and arched her spine. 

A flood of excitement spilled through his body. It was a small thing, a tiny movement of her body, but to Solas’s greedy eyes, it might as well have been an explicit plea. 

Then Nare suddenly spoke. “Please, Solas, I—” She broke off abruptly and clamped her lips shut, and his gut twisted; now she looked upset, and the distress in her face prompted him to step closer to her still. 

“Nare, what’s the matter?” he said urgently. 

She shook her head. “Nothing. I — I just… it’s nothing.” She smiled, but her smile was all wrong. Her breathing was still rapid and her eyes were still on the doorknob, and Solas was totally at loss as to how to interpret this. Until this moment, she’d been acting so professional, putting an appropriate distance between them that he’d been trying hard to match even though it pained him. But now…

Now, quite frankly, her body looked like she was begging to be touched. At the same time, she looked like she was about to cry, and Solas was seized by a sudden bone-deep urge to take her in his arms. 

“If you are upset, it’s not nothing,” he said firmly.

She shot him a quick smile, and his heart twisted at how unconvincing her smile was. She dropped her gaze to her feet and shrugged. “I’m not — it’s just me being stupid. Having dumb expectations. It’s nothing.”

“Expectations about what?” he asked.

She took a deep breath and kept her eyes on her feet, and Solas’s heart twisted even further. He couldn't bear seeing her look this dejected.

Without thinking, he reached out and gently lifted her chin. “Expectations about what, Nare?”

She met his gaze, and a red-hot pulse of desire shot through his body. Her pupils were huge, her eyes wide and blazing with heat and hope, and Solas realized with a dizzying jolt that this was the first time in weeks that he had touched her. Aside from that night at the bar, that night when he’d flirted with her so shamelessly by taking her left hand in his and stroking her palm, he had never again laid a finger on her. 

Now, his thumb and index finger were forming a little cradle for Nare’s chin, lifting her chin so she was forced to look him in the eye. And what he saw in her beautiful oceanic eyes was enough to make him want to throw away every single inhibition he had.

He stared into her eyes, greedily drinking in the lust and hope and desperation that was so obviously painted on her face. A dozen tense heartbeats later, she finally answered his question. “Expectations about us,” she whispered. 

_Us._ It was such a small word, a single innocuous syllable, but the spike of longing that it sent through his gut was so intense that it was almost alarming.

Reluctantly, _very_ reluctantly, he lowered his hand from her face. “I see.”

“Please,” she blurted, and she took a step closer to him. “Solas, please, I — I was trying not to say anything about the phone call.” 

His heart leapt into his throat — finally, at long last, a mention of the phone call! — but Nare was still talking. “I told you on Tuesday that I wouldn’t say anything so I didn’t say anything, and — Solas, you know that I respect you as a teacher and an artist,” she said urgently. “More than anything, I respect you and I… our… Being mentored by you means everything to me, so I didn’t want you to think I just wanted you for — for, um…” She trailed off with a visible gulp. 

He suddenly understood. “You didn’t want me to think you only wanted me for sex,” he said, very quietly.

Her breath hitched: an audible and dizzying sound of eagerness that made his blood thrum with heat. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I… I wanted to remind you that I can be totally professional, so if we… if you…” She gulped in another breath. “If we — if we get, um, involved, you don’t have to worry that you’re distracting me or taking advantage of me or hurting me. I know what I’m doing, I promise, and it’s — I just…” She exhaled shakily, then squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “I just wanted to remind you that I can be totally professional.”

He gazed at her affectionately. She was so flustered and so obviously aroused, and she was standing so close to him now that they were nearly pressed together in front of his office door, and… _fenedhis,_ he wanted her so badly that the wanting was a literal ache in his chest. 

In this moment, this singular moment with this beautiful woman standing in front of him looking like the incarnation of desire while telling him she could be completely professional, Solas finally recognized the truth he’d been denying all along: there was no way he could possibly say ‘no’ to Nare. 

And in this moment, with Nare practically panting for breath and prompting the hungry and reckless desire to pulse through his blood, Solas couldn't even find it in himself to feel guilty anymore.

He smiled faintly at her and clasped his hands behind his back. “Well, your professionality was very convincing.”

Her eyebrows rose. “It was?”

“Yes, very,” he said. “For the majority of this meeting, I couldn’t tell that you were feeling this way.”

Her shoulders loosened, and she let out a nervous little laugh. “Oh good. I tried really hard to be all cool and professional.”

“Did you?” he said in amusement. “You appeared entirely composed.”

She laughed again, more genuinely this time. “Composed? You must be kidding. I’ve been panicking on the inside all morning.”

“I truly couldn’t tell,” he told her. “You were upholding your professional demeanour with an indomitable focus.”

Her eyes widened, and Solas watched with a heated sort of satisfaction as her chest began to rise and fall with excitement. “In… indomitable focus?” she said faintly.

“Presumably,” he said. “I have yet to see it dominated.” He allowed his gaze to trace slowly over her panting lips before returning to her eyes, then lowered his voice. “I imagine the sight would be fascinating.”

Her reaction to his words was wholeheartedly satisfying and exactly what he had hoped: she gasped in a shuddering breath and leaned back against the door as though she couldn’t trust her legs to hold her up. Her breathing was rapid again and her cheeks were becoming more flushed than ever, and with her every lustful breath, Solas’s pulse pounded more eagerly in his chest and in his cock. 

He rested one hand on the door and leaned in close to her ear. “Breathe, Nare,” he murmured. “Take a deep breath.”

She closed her eyes and dragged a slow breath through her parted lips, and Solas watched her greedily as she breathed. Her chin was lifted as though to beg for a kiss, and he was standing so close to her that it would have been far too easy to give her the kiss that she was so obviously seeking. It would be far too easy to tilt her chin up, to slide his fingers around the slender column of her neck and stroke the line of her jaw until her lips parted to welcome him… 

_Not here,_ he thought. He might be incapable of refusing Nare, but if there was any line he wouldn’t cross, it would be kissing her for the first time in the dubious privacy of his office. 

“Come sit with me,” he said quietly. “We need to talk.”

She opened her eyes and nodded eagerly, and Solas gently ushered her over to the couch. When she was seated, he gave her an apologetic look. “Would it bother you if I locked the door? It’s not to keep you in, I assure you, but to keep others out.” The last thing he needed was for Felassan to come wandering in unexpectedly.

“To keep Felassan out, you mean?” she said.

He looked at her in surprise. “How did you know?”

“The others in the lab talk about how he walks into your and Abelas’s offices uninvited,” she said with a grin. “It sounds like Abelas isn’t a fan of his interruptions?”

Solas chuckled. “He isn’t, no.” He locked his office door, then sat on the couch beside her. 

She beamed at him, then bashfully dropped her gaze to her lap, and he studied her fondly for a moment. He knew he shouldn’t feel so relieved by the return of her usual warmth, but the first half of their meeting had been so stilted and uncomfortable that he didn’t care anymore what he _should_ be feeling. 

He rested his palms on his knees. “All right. Let’s discuss what happened the other night.”

“I know, you’re right, we need to talk about it,” she said quickly. “I just — I was afraid you’d think the worst of me and I wanted to show you that I’m serious about my degree.”

“I know you are serious, Nare,” he said gently. “And you shouldn’t fear that I’ll think poorly of you. Truthfully, you should be thinking poorly of _me_.”

“No!” she protested. “No way, never. Honestly, Solas, we both know who’s really the one who started this.”

“That’s irrelevant,” he said. “Technically speaking, any responsibility or blame lies squarely with me, regardless of who started this.”

She smiled at him. “Technically speaking?” she said playfully.

He smiled in return at her cheeky reminder of one of their earliest conversations. “Technically speaking, yes.”

“But you admit that _I_ started this,” she said.

He gave her a chiding look. “You initiated the conversation that led down this road, if that’s what you mean.”

She giggled. “‘Initiated the conversation.’ That’s a nice way of saying I flirted really hard.”

He rubbed his chin and shot her a small smile. “You are quite a vixen.”

Her lips curled in a mischievous heated grin, and he felt the heat of her smile like an unfurling of desire in his abdomen. Then she sobered and brushed a strand of hair over her ear. “I know that technically speaking, anything that happens between us would be blamed on you. That’s why I was trying to protect you by not bringing it up.”

“I appreciate your intention, but I believe it’s safe to say that we’re beyond that point now,” he pointed out. “There is no point pretending that phone call didn’t happen, and what’s more…” He trailed off and took a deep breath. After he said this, there would be no going back. This was his very last chance to end this liaison before it went any further.

At the mere thought of ending his sensual ties with Nare, however, something balked deep within his gut. Selfish and stupid it might be, but he didn’t _want_ to end his ties with Nare.

“What’s more, what?” she prompted. 

He exhaled slowly and looked her in the eye. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Her face lit up, and she shifted closer to him on the couch. “Me neither. I don’t want that either. I want—” She broke off and nibbled her bottom lip.

He tilted his head fondly. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” she said breathlessly.

“Tell me what you want,” he said.

She stared at him with an endearing combination of excitement and hope. “Tell you what I… You mean, just tell you? Just like that?”

“You had no qualms about telling me what you wanted when we were on the phone,” he said very quietly. 

Her eyes widened, and in their bottomless blue depths, Solas could see the words she’d said two nights ago — the words he could never forget, whispered in her breathless voice through the phone: _please, professor, I want you to fuck me._

She dragged in another shaky little breath, then shot him a tiny smile before dropping her eyes to her lap. “Solas, I… I don’t usually… I’ve never said anything like that to anyone before.”

He raised his eyebrows curiously but didn’t speak, wanting her to go on. Was Nare going to tell him about the side of her sexuality that she felt she had to hide? From the tone of their texts and conversations they’d had, he already suspected what she was holding close to her chest, but he didn’t want to assume.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” she said shakily. “I feel… Things feel different with you. I… I know we’ve just been texting and talking, but I feel like I can be myself with you. I just — it feels like I don’t have to hide.” 

“I feel that way as well,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, and her relief was obvious in her face. “Oh good,” she said eagerly. “It’s just — with you, it feels like… I don’t know, it just — feels different. Like I can just say things, like… like what I said on the phone, and you understand me. Not just understand, but…” She let out a nervous little laugh. “I don’t know, it feels like a… a good match or something. Does this make any sense?”

He nodded, feeling more connected to her with her every word. “You feel like you have found a complement to part of yourself that was hidden,” he said.

“Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, exactly. That’s…” She trailed off with a goofy little smile, and Solas admired the look on her face. She was scanning his face carefully, almost as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing, and he couldn’t blame her; this whole situation was feeling literally incredible to him as well.

She cleared her throat and ran a hand over her braid. “Do you… do you feel that way?” she asked shyly. “About me?”

“Yes, I do,” he said gently.

She beamed at him, then looked down at her hands, which were twisting together nervously in her lap. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“That thing you said about… about indomitable focus,” she said in a tiny voice. 

He went very still. _This_ was what he’d been suspecting about her — the part of Nare’s sexual nature that he wondered if she’d been hiding, and the thing that had been emerging more and more in their texts and finally on the phone. This was the thing that had been preoccupying him more and more with every passing day, leaving heated fantasies at the front of his mind and forcing him to bring himself to climax almost every night, and it seemed that his suspicions were about to be confirmed.

“What about it?” he prompted. 

She nibbled her lip, and he watched as her ears began turning pink again. When she finally lifted her gaze to his face, her expression was a heartbreaking mixture of anxiety and hope. “Did you mean it?” she asked. “That you want to, um… to see me dominated?”

His cock pulsed in his trousers, but he forced himself not to react. “I did,” he said calmly. “Is that what you want, Nare?”

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, that’s what I… fuck. Um, yes.” She laughed nervously. 

“Yes, what?” he said quietly.

The second the words left his mouth, Nare’s eyes darted to his face, and spirits save him, the look on her face… Solas had never seen anything like it. It was like an explosion of joy and eagerness and sheer unmitigated _lust_ was spilling across her face, rendering her cheekbones pink and her blue eyes blazing and rinsing away any of the lingering doubts in her face, and it was absolutely beautiful. 

“Yes, professor,” she said huskily.

A burst of lust flooded his gut and straight up to his head, a lust so powerful it was literally dizzying, and Solas was struck by a sudden sense of ringing surreality. He’d been fantasizing about this so fervently and so frequently in the past few weeks, wanting this so badly that it was keeping him awake at night and distracting him from his work during the day. And now, to have his forbidden and lovingly-detailed fantasy happening in front of him? It felt utterly unreal, like he was living in a dream.

He smiled and rubbed his chin, and Nare’s expression became pleading. “What?” she asked tensely. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he assured her. “Nothing at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I’m simply marveling.”

“Marveling at what?” she asked.

He sighed and rested his palms on his knees. “Dreams are familiar terrain to me,” he said softly. “I tread their paths at night and admire their strangeness, and in the mornings when I wake, I write or sketch the things I saw.” He gazed tenderly at her delicately flushed face. “Dreams are familiar to me, Nare. But never before have I had a dream become reality.”

She stared wordlessly at him with her oceanic eyes blazing with desire, and he gazed steadily back at her with his heart pulsing in his throat. Never in his life had anyone ever looked at him the way Nare was looking at him now.

Then, to his complete shock, Nare slid off of the couch to kneel at his feet. 

“Solas, please,” she begged. “I want you to fuck me.”

_I want you to fuck me._ Her words, the words he’d been replaying in his head for days: her words were like a red-hot surge of desire roaring through his body. But it was one thing for her to whisper these words to him through the phone. It was another thing altogether for her to say these delicious words to him in person while she was kneeling at his feet like a fantasy brought to vivid, jewel-toned life.

“Professor, please,” she whimpered. “Please, I need you to fuck me.”

His cock jerked, lured and tempted by her perfect words, but he _couldn’t_ do this now, not like this. He took Nare’s hands and pulled her to her feet. “Not now,” he said quietly.

“Please!” she blurted. “Please, Solas, it feels like I’ve been waiting forever—”

He gently cut her off. “I know. Believe me, I know how you are feeling. But we can’t do this now.”

She gripped his hands and sighed shakily. “Fuck—” 

He interrupted her. “Will you come to my apartment?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes!” she blurted. “Yes, of — when? When can I come?” 

He released her hands and tried to force himself to think. He had a class this afternoon, followed by a dinner arrangement with Dorian and the other art professors this evening…

“Tonight?” Nare said eagerly. “Can I come over tonight?”

“I can’t,” he said with genuine regret. “I have a prior engagement.”

“Tomorrow night?” she said. Then she wilted. “Shit, but I usually spend Friday nights with the girls.”

“Can you cancel?” Solas asked.

She grimaced. “I… I could, but I don’t think they’d buy it without a good excuse.”

“Saturday, then,” he said promptly. “Saturday morning. Will you come over on Saturday morning?”

“Yes,” she said instantly. “What time?”

“Would nine o’clock be too early?”

“Nine is perfect,” she said. Then she grinned. “Honestly, I probably won’t sleep at all the night before.”

He smirked. “I, on the other hand, will do my best to be well-rested.”

Her face lit up at his innuendo. “Can I call you tonight?” she said eagerly.

He exhaled and gave her a chiding look. “Nare…”

She laughed giddily. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being so over the top, I just… I really wanted this to happen and now I can’t wait.”

“I understand,” he said. “But we need to careful and patient.”

“I’m not very good at being patient,” she reminded him playfully.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I may have to teach you patience, then.”

A mischievous grin lifted her lips. “Or maybe I’ll have to wear yours down.”

A ripple of heat rolled through his blood. The way she bounced from timid to teasing in the blink of an eye made him want to kiss her and spank her at the same time. 

He raised his eyebrows pointedly, and she burst out another joyful little laugh. “Okay, okay, Saturday morning then. And I’ll just… I’ll think about you until then.”

Her tone was suggestive, an obvious attempt to goad him into asking what she would be doing while she thought about him, and he _couldn’t_ let himself give in. He huffed and made his way over to the door. “On this note, we should end our meeting,” he said. “Will you work on your study when you return home?”

“Is that what you want me to do, professor?” she asked coyly as she joined him by the door. 

_Veraisa,_ he thought with a rush of frustration and fondness. She truly was a vixen. It defied belief that this was the same woman who’d been so neutrally polite with him just a mere half-hour ago. 

He gave her a chiding look. “Yes, Nare, that is what I want you to do.”

She laughed and tucked a stray lock of hair over her ear. “Okay, okay. I’ll go home and work on my study.”

“An excellent idea,” he said. “That would make you a very good student.” He reached for the doorknob.

Then Nare grabbed the lapels of his blazer. 

Surprised, Solas looked at her. “What—” 

She kissed him suddenly, her peach-sweet lips pressed firmly to his, and a burst of shock exploded in his chest. Nare was kissing him. In his office. She was kissing him in his office, Nare, his beautiful and alluring Master’s student, kissing him in his office—

As quickly as the kiss began, it was over. Nare released him and clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh fuck,” she breathed.

Solas gaped at her, stunned and positively throbbing with foiled lust. Her eyes were huge and bright with lust and fear, and she looked so appalled by her own behaviour, and Solas should be appalled as well. This wasn’t the place for this, it wasn’t the right place or time — not when anyone could knock on his door at any minute.

He _should_ be appalled. But his terrible roguish side was fully roused now, pulsing hotly in his ears and his cock, and it was swiftly drowning out his sense of what he should and shouldn’t do.

“Fuck,” Nare squeaked. “Solas, I’m sorry—”

He crowded her against the door and lifted his hand to her neck, and her eyes went impossibly wide. He slowly stroked the line of her neck with his knuckles, and as her eyelids fluttered shut, he slipped his palm gently around to cradle her nape. He was moving confidently now, confidently and smoothly as though his body was being led by a different man altogether, but as Solas watched Nare arching toward him like a vine reaching for the sun, he knew with a dark and bone-deep sense of satisfaction that there was no other man leading him. There was just himself, the darker and hungrier side of himself that he’d never fully shown to anyone: a side of himself that Nare goaded and encouraged with her bold demands and her coyly submissive pleas, and a side that he would show to her very soon.

But not soon enough.

“Please,” she whimpered. 

He stroked her jawline with his thumb. “Shh,” he crooned, and he slowly lowered his lips to hers.

She was gasping for breath now, tiny desperate gasps that wafted over his lips as he leaned in closer, and he greedily savoured every second of their impending kiss and every desperate little breath that left her parted lips. He brushed his lips gently over hers, a tiny petal-soft caress, and Nare whimpered and fisted her hands in his lapels again. When he finally sealed his lips over hers, she moaned shamelessly into his mouth, and Solas was lost. 

He melted into her body, lifting his knee between her legs and carefully licking her tongue, and Nare instantly arched into him and pressed her groin to his thigh. He lifted her chin and lapped slowly at her tongue, savouring the breathy gasps of pleasure that left her lips with every gentle stroke of his tongue.

He nipped her lower lip gently, then took her mouth in another languorous open-mouthed kiss. His entire body was pounding with lust, pulsing with a roaring heat like he hadn’t felt in longer than he could remember, and Nare seemed to be just as lost as he; her hips were rolling eagerly down to meet the hard line of his thigh and her fists were clenched in the fabric of his blazer, and when Solas gently slid his fingers from her jawline down to cradle her throat, she broke their kiss with a sob.

An actual sob, accompanied by a tear rolling down her cheek. “Please,” she mewled. 

He gently brushed her tear away with his thumb, his heart pounding now with a mixture of roaring lust and aching affection. “Not here,” he whispered. 

She whimpered and plucked at his blazer. “But–”

“Not here, Nare,” he insisted quietly. “This space is not wide enough to hold all of my dreams for you.”

Her eyes fluttered shut. She let out a tremulous breath, then an even more tremulous little laugh. “Sweet talker,” she whispered.

He smiled, then carefully stepped away from her, placing a small but significant foot of space between them — just enough space for them both to find a modicum of calm. He breathed slowly to cool his thrumming lust, watching as Nare’s chest rose and fell with her careful breaths, and when she opened her eyes again, he stepped back and clasped his hands humbly behind his back. 

“I will see you on Saturday,” he said softly.

She nodded and adjusted her purse on her shoulder, then lifted her chin. “I’ll text you before then.”

There was something about her tone that promised both rapture and retribution, and he chuckled at the challenge. “I look forward to it,” he replied.

She grinned at him: a brilliant grin full of heat and humour and sensual promise, so much sensual promise that it set his cock to pounding once more. Then, without another word, Nare unlocked his office door and left. 

For once, he indulged himself in the enticing sight of her swaying hips as she walked away. When she was gone, he retreated into his office and closed the door, then returned to his desk and sat down. 

He mindlessly clicked through to the university’s assignment-submission portal and began downloading the submitted assignments for the seminar class, thinking that he might be able to focus on grading at least. But when Nare’s assignment appeared on the online portal, his heart stuttered — with excitement and satisfaction, and a small but undeniable flicker of self-recrimination.

_Saturday_ , he thought. Nare would be coming to his home on Saturday. In two days’ time, his Master’s student would be coming to his apartment for the explicit purpose of doing the exact thing that a supervisor and a student should not be doing — the exact thing he’d tried telling himself all week long that he could not allow himself to do.

He rubbed his forehead. Then, without quite meaning to, he laughed. _Fenedhis,_ he thought ruefully. _I am in terrible trouble._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen phrases in this chapter, from FenxShiral: _veraisa_ = someone who tempts another’s sexual desire. Analogous to ‘vixen’ in English. 
> 
> Next chapter: Solas and Nare texts! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [Elbenherz](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) is your amazing artist and creator of beautiful Nare! ❤


	22. Ma'av'in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Nare texting! 😍

Nare Thurs Sept 24 19:23  
[img1867.jpg]

Nare 19:23  
Is the blending better now?

Solas 19:27  
I’d prefer to know what you think. Do you feel that it’s better?

Nare 19:27  
Yes I think so. I’ll try the same technique on another face

Solas 19:27  
That’s a good plan.

Nare 19:27  
Are you still out at dinner?

Solas 19:27  
I am, yes.

Nare 19:27  
Answering texts at the dinner table?

Solas 19:27  
Not at the table, no. I excused myself for a moment.

Nare 19:27  
You left the table for me?

Solas 19:28  
I left because I was being interrupted by an impertinent student. 

Nare 19:28  
I’m sorry professor! I won’t do it again

Solas 19:28  
I have my doubts. But there’s no need to apologize.

Nare 19:28  
Are you happy or mad that I texted you, then?

Solas 19:29  
You can text whenever you need me, Nare.

Nare 19:29  
Then I’d be texting you all the time

Solas 19:29  
Perhaps not the wisest suggestion, then. Appealing though it sounds. 

Nare 19:29  
❤

Solas 19:29  
I should return to the table. My absence will become noteworthy soon.

Nare 19:29  
You don’t usually leave the table to answer students’ texts?

Solas 19:30  
You are the only one who has my personal cell number.

Nare 19:30  
This is your personal cell number?

Solas 19:30  
Yes.

Nare 19:30  
I didn’t know that

Solas 19:30  
There is no reason I would I have told you before.

Nare 19:30  
Did you

Solas 19:30  
Nare?

Nare 19:30  
Sorry I didn’t mean to send that! 

Nare 19:30  
You should go back to your dinner I’m sorry! 

Solas 19:30  
What were you going to ask?

Nare 19:30  
I’ll ask you later

Nare 19:31  
Text me when you get home?

Solas 19:31  
I will.

Nare 19:31  
Ok enjoy your dinner! I’ll work on my study in the meantime

Solas 19:31  
That’s a very good idea.

Nare 19:31  
I’m a very good student 😉

Solas 19:31  
You are a very cheeky student.

Nare 19:31  
I know, I’m terrible. I could probably use some discipline

Solas 19:31  
I must get back, Nare.

Nare 19:31  
Go go! I’ll talk to you later! xo

*****************************

Solas 22:14  
Nare? Are you still awake?

Nare 22:14  
Of course! How was dinner?

Solas 22:14  
It was very good, thank you. 

Nare 22:14  
Are you home now? 

Solas 22:14  
Yes, I am. Fenor is pleased that I’m back. She is sitting on my lap.

Nare 22:15  
That’s so cute! Is she very territorial?

Solas 22:15  
What do you mean?

Nare 22:15  
Will she be upset if someone else was sitting in your lap

Solas 22:15  
I can’t really say.

Nare 22:15  
Why?

Solas 22:16  
The situation hasn’t arisen before.

Nare 22:16  
You haven’t had any women trying to sit in your lap at your apartment?

Solas 22:16  
I have had women visiting for social gatherings. But none who would be so bold as to sit in my lap.

Nare 22:17  
So wait are you saying I’m the first girl you’re bringing back to your place

Solas 22:17  
Since I have been here in Orlais, yes.

Solas 22:18  
Does that disturb you?

Nare 22:18  
No no not at all! I’m still here

Nare 22:18  
Im just processing

Nare 22:18  
I’m***

Solas 22:18  
Is there so much to process?

Nare 22:18  
Yeah. I don’t get it! 

Solas 22:18  
You don’t get what?

Nare 22:18  
How you haven’t had another woman at your apartment before

Solas 22:19  
It’s quite simple. I haven’t wanted any other women at my apartment.

Nare 22:19  
Sweet talker ❤

Solas 22:19  
It’s simply the truth.

Nare 22:19  
You really didn’t want anyone else at your place?

Solas 22:19  
I’m amused at how much this surprises you.

Solas 22:19  
Did you imagine me to be some sort of lothario? 

Nare 22:19  
Hahaha no no! It’s not that

Nare 22:19  
You’re just so fucking sexy

Solas 22:21  
Ha. I’m not sure what to say to this.

Nare 22:21  
You don’t have to say anything. It’s simply the truth 😉

Solas 22:21  
Truth is a subjective matter, some might say.

Nare 22:21  
Sexy and modest. Seriously though you could have had a bunch of women at your place if you wanted

Solas 22:22  
That, I believe, is the crucial point. That is not what I want. 

Nare 22:22  
What do you want?

Solas 22:22  
I believe I made that abundantly clear earlier today.

Nare 22:24  
I don’t want to wait until Saturday

Solas 22:24  
I know, Nare. Believe me.

Nare 22:24  
What are you doing right now?

Solas 22:24  
Still sitting in my living room.

Nare 22:24  
Are you going to bed soon?

Solas 22:24  
Why do you ask?

Nare 22:24  
I’m in bed

Solas 22:24  
So early?

Nare 22:24  
It’s not that early!

Solas 22:24  
I thought you preferred to stay up late.

Nare 22:24  
Sometimes I go to bed early

Solas 22:24  
You seem to be going to bed early quite often these days.

Nare 22:24  
Are you teasing me for being in bed early

Solas 22:24  
It is a kindly sort of teasing, I assure you. Not mocking.

Nare 22:27  
[Untitled.m4a]

Solas 22:30  
Nare…

Nare 22:30  
Not laughing anymore are you ❤

Nare 22:32  
Are you still there?

Solas 22:34  
I’m here.

Nare 22:34  
Do you like my voice memo

Solas 22:34  
Very much.

Nare 22:34  
That’s what you’ll hear on Saturday 

Nare 22:34  
I want you to touch me and make me sound like that

Solas 22:35  
I promise that I will make you sound like that. Several times. 

Solas 22:37  
Did you fall asleep?

Nare 22:38  
I might never sleep again if you keep saying things like that haha!

Nare 22:38  
I think I’m going to die before Saturday hahaha

Solas 22:38  
Focus on your work to distract yourself.

Nare 22:38  
Has that been working for you?

Solas 22:38  
That was a rude remark.

Nare 22:38  
I’m sorry professor

Solas 22:38  
Are you?

Nare 22:38  
Yes I am! Very sorry

Solas 22:38  
We’ll see about that.

Solas 22:39  
I should shower. Goodnight, Nare.

Nare 22:39  
What! You can’t 

Nare 22:39  
You can’t say that and leave!

Nare 22:41  
Solas?

**************************************

Solas Fri Sept 25 12:16  
[img597.jpg]

Solas 12:16  
A reminder that this exhibit is currently running.

Nare 12:17  
Oh yes thank you, I want to see it!

Solas 12:17  
I’d like to see it as well.

Nare 12:17  
We should go together!

Nare 12:17  
Or do you think that would be a bad idea

Solas 12:18  
I think it would be an acceptable idea. You are my art student, and I am familiar with the artist’s work. We would have a very fruitful discussion about it. It would be entirely plausible that we would go together.

Nare 12:18  
Okay then I’d love to go with you!

Nare 12:18  
I promise to behave myself

Solas 12:18  
It concerns me slightly that you feel the need to say so.

Nare 12:18  
I mean it though I really will be professional

Solas 12:18  
I am teasing you, Nare. I know you will be professional.

Nare 12:18  
Ok because I meant what I said yesterday

Nare 12:19  
I don’t want you to get in trouble. This won’t get in the way of any of my studies or my work or anything, I swear

Solas 12:19  
Your behaviour is not in question. It’s my behaviour that concerns me, truly.

Nare 12:19  
Please don’t worry

Nare 12:19  
I trust you

Solas 12:19  
It occurred to me yesterday that I am grading you in the seminar course as well as supervising you. Foolish that I forgot, but I did.

Nare 12:19  
That’s okay

Solas 12:19  
It isn’t. This is quite serious.

Nare 12:20  
Solas, I trust you. Seriously. I know you won’t favour me

Nare 12:20  
The Dread Wolf doesn’t play favourites!

Solas 12:20  
Ha. Is that how the old Dalish tales go?

Nare 12:20  
Something like that…

Solas 12:20  
Now you are being coy.

Nare 12:20  
No no, there’s just an old Dalish curse that I’m thinking of 😂

Solas 12:20  
Dare I ask?

Nare 12:20  
“May the Dread Wolf take you”. Hahaha!

Solas 12:20  
And so he will.

Nare 12:22  
You can’t say things like that!

Solas 12:22  
Why not?

Nare 12:22  
I can’t focus when you say things like that!

Nare 12:22  
You make me want to come over to your office right now

Solas 12:22  
Fortunate that I am not there, then.

Nare 12:22  
You scold me for being cheeky but you’re so mean 😂

Nare 12:22  
I can’t believe you left me hanging last night!

Solas 12:23  
Call it a disciplinary action.

Nare 12:23  
Is that how you’re going to discipline me? Leaving me hanging?

Solas 12:23  
Making you wait is a good way of teaching you patience.

Nare 12:23  
I don’t want to wait

Solas 12:23  
I know, Nare. You must try to be patient.

Solas 12:23  
It occurs to me that you didn’t finish asking your question. 

Nare 12:23  
Which question?

Solas 12:23  
The one you cut off last night while I was at dinner.

Nare 12:23  
Oh! It’s a personal question

Solas 12:23  
Ask, and I will answer if I can. 

Nare 12:23  
Ok. I was just wondering, when you gave me your number a few weeks ago

Nare 12:24  
Did you want something to happen between us? Is that why you gave me your personal number?

Solas 12:24  
I have been asking myself this question since that day.

Nare 12:24  
And?

Solas 12:25  
I think I have been acting with a part of my mind that hasn’t spoken up in quite some time.

Nare 12:25  
What do you mean?

Solas 12:25  
You sensed it before. A different side of me.

Nare 12:25  
The wolflike side?

Solas 12:25  
You could say that, yes.

Nare 12:25  
The side of you likes it when I call you professor?

Solas 12:25  
Yes, Nare.

Nare 12:27  
Sometimes I feel so

Nare 12:27  
Fuck I’m sorry I keep sending by accident

Solas 12:27  
It’s all right. Take your time.

Nare 12:27  
I’m so embarrassed

Solas 12:27  
You have nothing to be embarrassed about. 

Nare 12:28  
I was going to NOT say that sometimes I just feel really close to you even though we haven’t known each other that long

Nare 12:28  
I know that’s stupid I didn’t mean to say it

Nare 12:29  
Solas?

Solas 12:30  
Ma’av’in.

Nare 12:30  
What’s that mean?

Solas 12:30  
It is an Elvhen saying. The literal translation is “my mouth”, but the meaning is akin to saying that you are so attuned another’s thoughts and feelings that they could speak for you.

Nare 12:30  
❤

Nare 12:30  
I love that so much 

Solas 12:30  
It is a beautiful saying. One of many in Elvhen.

Nare 12:30  
I wish I spoke Elvhen more fluently

Solas 12:31  
I would be happy to teach you, if we have the time.

Solas 12:31  
There are some things that sound far better in Elvhen than in the common tongue.

Nare 12:31  
What kinds of things?

Solas 12:31  
Perhaps I will tell you tomorrow.

Nare 12:31  
You are such a tease!

Solas 12:31  
Are you talking back?

Nare 12:31  
What if I was, professor?

Solas 12:31  
That would indicate that you need more discipline.

Nare 12:31  
What kind of discipline?

Nare 12:33  
Oh no 😂 not again!

Nare 12:35  
Please professor don’t ghost me!

Solas 12:35  
I must return to the office now. You can text me later if you like.

Nare 12:35  
I will! 

*********************************

Nare 16:44  
Felassan doesn’t like Orlesian art does he?

Solas 16:44  
What makes you say that?

Nare 16:44  
He assigned us to read a critique that he wrote for a famous Orlesian exhibition that toured a couple years ago and I can hear the hint of snark in his writing lol

Solas 16:44  
Is it the critique of the exhibition called “The neo-naturalistic revolution: turning back the technological clock”?

Nare 16:44  
Yeah that’s the one!

Solas 16:45  
Ha. Yes. Keep reading. His snark will become less of a hint and more of a roar.

Nare 17:02  
Omg he hated this exhibit

Nare 17:02  
I’m laughing so hard 😂

Nare 17:02  
I can’t believe a journal published this review!

Solas 17:03  
Don’t be so surprised. The journal is a Fereldan one. Ferelden and Orlais may be allies, but they still take any opportunity to pick at each other.

Nare 17:03  
Art doesn’t exist in a political vacuum!

Solas 17:03  
Exactly. 

Nare 17:03  
What did you think of the exhibit?

Solas 17:05  
I thought it was typically Orlesian. Which isn’t to say it was necessarily bad; just predictable. Thematic trends in art tend to follow a pattern of responding directly to technological changes within the culture. As Felassan’s critique pointed out, the current trend in Orlais is a pushback against modern technology, almost like a counter-technological movement. Which Felassan, as you saw, is deeply critical of. 

Nare 17:05  
He really seemed to hate the way that androids were depicted as agents of corruption in the exhibit

Solas 17:05  
Yes, he does. But his opinion on the depiction of androids is coloured by our own political context. 

Nare 17:05  
Arlathani politics, you mean?

Solas 17:06  
Yes, and our country’s history of slavery. Which, as you know, only came out within the last ten years.

Nare 17:06  
Thanks to you!

Solas 17:06  
In part, yes. But I did not initiate that movement alone. 

Nare 17:06  
Felassan was part of that movement too, right?

Solas 17:06  
He was, yes. As was Abelas, and many others. 

Nare 17:06  
How does that colour Felassan’s feelings about the Orlesian exhibit?

Solas 17:07  
Before I tell you, I should ask if your assignment is to write an opinion piece in response to his critique. If it is, then you asking my opinion could constitute cheating.

Nare 17:07  
Oh fuck you’re right 

Nare 17:07  
I honestly wasn’t even thinking that, I was just making conversation I swear

Solas 17:07  
Nare, please be calm. I was teasing you.

Nare 17:07  
I’m so sorry I wasn’t even thinking that

Nare 17:07  
Solas!! You can’t tease me about that! I almost had a heart attack

Solas 17:07  
I apologize. I shouldn’t laugh. You’re right, the joke was in poor taste.

Nare 17:07  
At least add a laughing emoji if you’re going to make a joke like that! 

Solas 17:07  
I don’t know how.

Nare 17:07  
Are you kidding?

Solas 17:07  
I’m afraid not. I am of an older generation than you, remember. 

Nare 17:07  
That’s a terrible excuse! My mom can send emoji! 

Solas 17:08  
Thank you. Now I feel even worse.

Nare 17:08  
I’m sorry professor! I’ll help you install an emoji keyboard on your phone tomorrow 

Solas 17:08  
A paltry comfort, but I suppose I appreciate it.

Nare 17:08  
Are you pouting? 😂

Solas 17:08  
That’s a rude suggestion.

Nare 17:08  
Are you going to punish me for saying it?

Solas 17:08  
Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ll be lenient if you install the emoji keyboard on my phone. 

Nare 17:08  
Depending on the punishment, maybe I’ll leave you emoji-less 😉

Solas 17:08  
Vixen.

Nare 17:08  
❤

Nare 17:08  
What are you up to? 

Solas 17:08  
I was just about to leave the lab and head home for the night.

Nare 17:08  
Home to Fenor?

Solas 17:08  
That’s right. 

Nare 17:08  
Any plans for you and Fenor tonight? 😊

Solas 17:08  
I would like to do some drawing. Then I might watch a film if it’s not too late. I am hoping to get a full night’s rest tonight, though.

Nare 17:08  
You’re making me get excited again

Solas 17:08  
I am quite excited myself.

Nare 17:08  
It’s so weird but nice to hear you say this

Solas 17:08  
Explain?

Nare 17:08  
You’re so aloof sometimes in your texts

Nare 17:08  
Like not cold or anything but you change the subject a lot when I’m being flirty lol

Solas 17:09  
I am sorry. I had no choice but to be aloof.

Solas 17:09  
I would like to say I was trying to avoid this happening, but as I told you earlier, I think part of me always hoped for it, terrible though that is to admit. 

Nare 17:09  
It’s not terrible! You’re not terrible at all

Nare 17:09  
I really came onto you hard lol. It’s really not your fault 

Nare 17:09  
And I know you disagree and I know I should disagree with myself but this doesn’t feel like it’s wrong 

Nare 17:09  
We haven’t even really done anything yet and I’m already so happy

Solas 17:09  
I am happy as well. But I wouldn’t say we have not done anything yet.

Nare 17:09  
You know what I mean

Solas 17:09  
I’m afraid I don’t. 

Nare 17:09  
What are YOU saying, professor? Is there something specific you’re thinking of?

Solas 17:10  
I am saying that I have not forgotten the kiss. 

Nare 17:10  
You don’t need to remind me of that kiss

Nare 17:10  
It’s all I can think about

Solas 17:10  
I’m glad to hear I’m not alone in that.

Nare 17:10  
Will you kiss me like that tomorrow?

Nare 17:12  
Solas? 

Nare 17:17  
Are you ghosting me again? I’m not even being bad!

Solas 17:25  
My apologies. I am truly sorry, Nare. Abelas came to my office. 

Solas 17:25  
I am getting into my car now. Text me later if you like. 

Nare 17:25  
Ok! Drive safe! Eyes on the road! No texting and driving!

Solas 17:25  
Excellent advice, thank you.

Nare 17:25  
😂

*************************

Nare 19:47  
So I was thinking when you mentioned Abelas

Nare 19:47  
This is probably a stupid question but he can’t know about this right?

Solas 19:47  
It pains me to say it, but no. I can’t tell him in good conscience. He would feel obligated to report it. I could not let him face such a dilemma.

Nare 19:47  
That’s okay I totally understand 

Nare 19:47  
It was dumb of me to even ask, obviously he can’t know about it

Nare 19:48  
Nobody in the lab can know about it 

Solas 19:48  
Nare, are you certain you want to do this?

Nare 19:48  
Yes

Nare 19:48  
Yes I want this

Solas 19:48  
You are under no obligation. You must tell me if you change your mind. I would never hold you to this.

Nare 19:48  
I’m not changing my mind 

Nare 19:48  
Solas I want you. I know what I’m doing, I promise 

Solas 19:48  
I worry about the pain this ethical conflict will bring you in the future.

Nare 19:48  
Don’t worry. Please don’t worry

Nare 19:49  
I can decide what I want 

Nare 19:49  
I’m a little worried about YOU actually. You and Abelas are close aren’t you?

Solas 19:49  
We are, yes. But no closer than you and Athera. Or Tamaris, whom I recently learned is involved with Felassan.

Nare 19:49  
Ooh did Felassan tell you? 

Solas 19:49  
Yes, he told me on Wednesday. He seems very taken with her. 

Nare 19:49  
Omg that’s so cute that he told you 

Nare 19:49  
I would tell Tamaris if I didnt think she’d get weird about it lol

Nare 19:49  
Didn’t***

Solas 19:49  
Should I be concerned about her?

Nare 19:49  
What do you mean?

Solas 19:50  
I don’t mean to imply anything negative. Perhaps I mean to ask if I should be concerned on Felassan’s behalf.

Nare 19:50  
Are you trying to protect him? That’s so sweet!

Nare 19:50  
Don’t worry, you have nothing to worry about

Nare 19:50  
He doesn’t need protection! He’ll be fine I promise 😊

Solas 19:50  
Hm. All right. 

Solas 19:50  
In any case, to answer your question: I believe the secrecy will be equally taxing for us both. I don’t want you to feel forced to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. 

Nare 19:50  
Solas, please believe me, I know what I’m doing. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not doing anything wrong 

Solas 19:50  
The university and many ethicists would disagree.

Nare 19:50  
Fuck them 

Solas 19:51  
Harsh words.

Nare 19:51  
I mean it 😂 I’m channeling a little Tamaris here but I mean it

Nare 19:51  
Are you having second thoughts?

Solas 19:51  
No, Nare. No. 

Solas 19:51  
My only concern is making you feel like you are under duress. I never want you to feel that way.

Nare 19:51  
I don’t. I promise

Nare 19:51  
Shit our food delivery just got here I have to go now but honestly don’t worry about me and don’t worry about the secrecy, it is totally fine 

Nare 19:51  
And don’t worry about Felassan! He’s in good hands 😉

Solas 19:51  
Ah. Too much information. 

Nare 19:51  
😂 

***************************

Solas 22:31  
I am going to sleep now. 

Solas 22:31  
Goodnight, Nare. Feel free to call me if you have any problems getting here tomorrow.

Nare 22:33  
I’m hiding in the bathroom for a second so I can reply lol

Nare 22:33  
You sound so cool and calm about this!

Solas 22:33  
Are you not feeling calm?

Nare 22:33  
I’m excited!

Solas 22:33  
But not necessarily calm.

Nare 22:33  
I’m maybe a little nervous

Solas 22:33  
Please don’t be. You owe me nothing tomorrow, and you can leave at any time. Do not think to question that.

Solas 22:33  
The only thing I expect is the pleasure of spending some time with you.

Nare 22:33  
You really are such a sweet talker

Nare 22:33  
I still can’t believe I’m the first girl who’s coming to your place

Solas 22:34  
I still can’t quite believe you want to come over.

Nare 22:34  
What do you mean?

Solas 22:34  
I have been on my own for quite some time. 

Nare 22:34  
So have I

Solas 22:34  
Have you?

Nare 22:34  
I haven’t had sex for almost three years

Solas 22:34  
That is not what I would have expected.

Nare 22:34  
Yeah I know it’s weird 

Solas 22:34  
Not weird. Simply unexpected. But I won’t ask further details now. You can tell me tomorrow if you wish. 

Nare 22:34  
It’s kind of a long story

Solas 22:35  
It is all the more important, then. I would like to hear it, if you’ll tell me.

Nare 22:35  
Ok

Nare 22:35  
How long has it been since you had sex?

Solas 22:35  
About a year.

Solas 22:35  
But it has been far longer since I met someone with a rare spirit such as yours. Longer than I can remember, truthfully.

Nare 22:36  
I want you so much

Nare 22:36  
I wish were together right now

Solas 22:36  
Patience, Nare. A few more hours.

Nare 22:36  
I know I just… ma’av’in ❤

Solas 22:36  
Ma’av’in tas, Nare. 

Nare 22:36  
Ok I should go back to the girls

Nare 22:36  
Goodnight professor xoxo

Solas 22:36  
Goodnight. Sleep well. 

Nare 22:36  
I will! ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Elvhen phrase from this chapter by FenxShiral, as featured in my fave fic [Message Sent:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457130/chapters/7585658)
> 
> Ma'av'in = literally “my mouth”. As Solas said, this means “we understand each other on such a personal level that you could talk for me”, but there is a secondary, more sexual meaning: “I love you so much, and desire you so much, that my mouth tastes like yours.” 
> 
> Next up: THE FUCKFEST. In you guys’ words, not mine. (I LOVE YOU ALL.) 😂❤💦 FYI that the chapter will be up on Sunday, and it is >13k words. 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your beloved artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	23. Yes, Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art. Open at your own risk. 😘

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, we are blessed by TWO pieces of NSFW art by a guest artist: Elbenherz's partner, who is also an incredible artist and gifted her with these pieces!! Please forgive my humble words in the sight of such greatness. 🙏❤❤
> 
> Also, some quick inspo photos of [Nare's hair](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/571412701209952266/782662963681165312/Nare_hair_for_first_time_with_Solas.jpg) and [her clothes](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/571412701209952266/782662992033742918/Nare_outfit.jpg) for this chapter, so I don't have to go into detail describing them.

###  NARE 

_Nare Sat Sept 26 8:21 a.m.  
I’m on my way! Should be there just before 9!_

_Solas 8:21 a.m.  
Excellent. I’ll put on some coffee for you._

_Nare 8:21 a.m.  
No tea?_

_Solas 8:21 a.m.  
Impertinent._

_Nare 8:21 a.m.  
Just setting the tone for the day 😉_

_Solas 8:21 a.m.  
You are inviting considerable discipline, Nare._

_Nare 8:21 a.m.  
Yes I am professor!_

She grinned giddily and tucked her phone into her coat pocket as she hurried to the university. Once she got to the school, she’d call for a cab to take her to Solas’s apartment, which was about a twenty-minute drive from campus. She had told Tamaris and Athera last night that she’d be spending the day at the school’s art studio, since that was where Solas had started giving her oil painting lessons — never mind that those one-on-one lessons hadn’t started yet.

Neither Tamaris nor Athera had questioned her, not that she expected them to; they had no reason to not believe her, and the fact that they’d believed her so easily made her feel a tiny pang of discomfort in her gut, almost like a kind of loneliness. It was strange not telling Tamaris and Athera about Solas, especially since he was consuming so much of her thoughts these days, but she was convinced that he was worth the secrecy and the trouble. 

She just hoped he would think she was worth the trouble too, once she told him about her pain problem. 

Her gut twisted with nerves and she walked a little faster, almost as though she could escape the nervousness if she walked fast enough. She occupied herself instead with thoughts of Solas: thoughts about his slow and sexy pacing, the way he rubbed his chin when he was thinking, the way his voice dropped to a bone-melting intimate purr when he was telling her about his dreams… 

The way he kissed her against the door in his office, pressing his knee between her legs and bringing his lips to hers so slowly, so fucking slowly until she felt like her heart was going to bang its way out of her rib cage.

A ripple of heat bloomed in her abdomen and made its way up to her cheeks. She wanted him to kiss her again like that so badly. She had never been kissed like that in her entire life. The way Solas had taken his time, hovering his lips so carefully over hers before actually kissing her… 

Fuck, she was getting wet just thinking about it. She couldn’t _wait_ to see him again. 

A few minutes later, she was settled in a cab on her way to his apartment, but the enforced stillness of sitting in a car seemed to give her nerves the opportunity they needed to sneak back in and haunt her. For all her outrageous flirting with Solas and the way she’d begged him so shamelessly to fuck her, the fact still remained that Nare hadn’t had sex in years, all because it had been so painful and pleasureless that she couldn’t be bothered. 

She’d tried so many things to fix the problem: going to the doctor (who ran tests and found nothing wrong), trying prescription creams (which didn’t work), and seeing a sex therapist for a couple of sessions. But some of the therapist’s suggestions were ones that Nare couldn’t really try without a partner — and Nare had never been able to trust any partner with this terrible truth, so that hadn’t worked out either.

Then there was her sleeping-around phase, where she’d seduced and slept with a handful of guys in quick succession in the hopes that one of them would help her find the desire she wanted so badly to feel but that always seemed to elude her. Unfortunately, the sleeping-around phase had backfired. The pain remained with every guy she had sex with, which made her less horny with every attempt at sex, and her anticipation of the pain just made everything worse. The last time she’d tried to have sex with someone, she hadn’t even been able to grit her teeth and bear it. She’d left his place in humiliation and cried on her way home, and that was the last time she had bothered trying to have sex with anyone. 

That was the legacy of difficulty that she was bringing to Solas today. 

Her stomach felt snarled with nerves. She wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to focus on everything about Solas that was good — his voice, his patience, the warmth of his smile, the sweet words that he texted to her — but it was no good: her anxiety had taken residence in her gut, and all she could think about now was disappointing him. How would he react when she told him she had pain during sex? Would he think she’d been misleading him with her flirting and her begging? What if it hurt when he tried to fuck her? Would he give up on her? 

How horrible would it be if she was this horny for Solas, this turned on by him, but still wasn’t able to have sex with the only person she had ever really wanted?

The endless minutes of the drive ticked by, and Nare sat silently in the back seat stewing in a sickening mixture of anxiety and anticipation. By the time she was standing in the foyer of Solas’s building and pressing his number into the keypad, she was literally trembling. 

The buzzing-in system rang once. Then there was a click. “Hello?”

 _Solas._ His calm, smooth voice seemed to sink straight through her skin, helping her to breathe more easily. “It’s me,” she said. 

“Please, come in,” he said, and the door clicked as he unlocked it remotely. 

Nare let herself in and hurried to the elevator. She pushed the button for the 11th floor and tried to breathe slowly as the elevator made its smooth ascent. By the time she was making her way down the hall to Solas’s apartment, she was fairly confident that she _looked_ calm, even if she still felt jittery.

She nervously smoothed a hand over her hair, then knocked on his door. A second later, the door opened, and her heart thumped in her throat.

He was smiling, and he was beautiful. He was dressed very casually: loose drawstring linen pants, a soft fitted v-neck t-shirt, and bare feet. For some reason, his bare feet especially made her smile.

“Good morning, Nare,” he said, and he stood back to let her in. “Come in.”

Creators, his voice was so warm and welcoming, like sinking into a hot bath. She beamed at him as she stepped inside. “Good morning, professor,” she said playfully. “I like your feet.”

His eyebrows rose. “My feet?”

She let out a little laugh. “I’ve never seen your bare feet before. They’re nice feet.” She patted her cheeks, feeling both stupid and elated. Now that she was here with him, she was still feeling nervous, but a good kind of nervous — a surreal kind of nervous, like she was living in a fantasy. 

His lips curled at the corners with humour. “That’s a compliment I have never had before, but thank you. Please, make yourself comfortable — I’ll take your coat.” He quirked an eyebrow as he helped her with her coat. “Feel free to let your feet be free as well.”

She laughed again, feeling more relaxed already as she took off her ankle boots. “That’s okay, I think I’ll keep my socks on. They’re the only thing keeping my legs warm.”

He finished hanging her coat in the hall closet, then turned back to face her. “I imagine that’s the case,” he said, and his eyes dropped to her legs — legs that were partly bare, thanks to the gap between her skirt and her above-the-knee socks. 

His gaze lingered on the bare skin of her thighs, and something warm throbbed to life between her legs. When his eyes returned to her face, his lips were quirked with a hint of mischief. “Were you not cold on the way?” he asked.

She grinned, giddy with humour and heat. “No, actually. It’s pretty warm out for a late September day.”

“That’s fortunate,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” she said.

His smile widened slightly, but he didn’t speak, and Nare stared at him with a rising restlessness. There was something about the way he was looking at her, the confident angle of his head and the way he was standing there so casually in his tight t-shirt and his comfortable bare feet, that made her want to strip right here on the spot. 

Before she could find her tongue to say anything else — a plea, a cheeky remark, anything — he stepped back and gestured for her to follow him. “Come. Let me show you around,” he said. “The kitchen is straight through here; you should help yourself to whatever you like while you’re here. The living room is through there…”

He led her through the main rooms of his apartment: a narrow kitchen that opened at both ends into the main area and at the back onto a tidy little balcony, a huge open-plan living area that was informally sectioned into a dining space and a living room-slash-office space, and a separate smaller room off of the living area that was outfitted with blackout curtains, a couch and a flat-screen TV. The east-facing end of the living area boasted floor-to-ceiling windows across the entire wall, lighting the whole apartment with a lovely wash of morning light and showing off Solas’s simple but elegant decor: comfortable but un-fussy couches and armchairs in dark neutral colours, dark wood furniture and shelving, cozy area rugs scattered strategically on the hardwood floors, and lamps instead of overhead lights. It was a lovely mirroring of his office decor, actually, and Nare felt herself relaxing even further at the familiarity. 

He finished the small tour near the TV room. “There is a bathroom back near the front door, and another down the hall that leads to the bedroom.”

Her tummy flipped at the mention of his bedroom. She shot him a coy look. “Are you going to show me your bedroom next?”

He smiled faintly. “I’ll take you there when I think you are ready.”

A thump of lust pulsed between her legs. _I’m ready now,_ she thought eagerly, but he was padding away to the kitchen. “I will bring you some coffee,” he called over his shoulder. “You drink it black, correct?”

“Yep,” she said. She wandered curiously through his living area, looking at his heavily-laden bookshelves and admiring his selection of knick-knacks. It looked like he collected small vases from different cultures and casts of animal skulls, and Nare enjoyed the private little peeks into his life that his trinkets afforded. 

By the time he returned with a mug of coffee for her, she had made her way over to the western end of the living room, where the wall boasted three paintings: two rich abstract landscapes that Nare recognized as being Solas’s work, which flanked a third painting in a lush realistic style by a different artist. 

He offered her the mug, and she took it with a smile. “Who’s the artist who did this piece?” she asked. 

“This is by Felassan,” Solas said. 

Nare’s eyes widened. “Felassan did this?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “It is one of six that he did for the final project of his fine arts degree. It shows wisdom and pride.”

“Wisdom and pride?” Nare said. She looked at the piece again, and she instantly saw what he meant. The painting showed two figures: a beautiful androgynous elf who was kneeling at the base of an enormous pile of books and poring through a tome, and a bizarre twisted figure who was standing at the top of the pile. The figure at the top appeared to be lecturing the elf at the bottom, but the pile of books was tottering perilously beneath the figure’s feet, making it seem as though the lecturer would fall to their demise at any moment.

She admired the work for a moment, then let out a little laugh. “It’s a bit of an attack, isn’t it? On people who think they know everything?”

“You see that clearly, do you?” he said wryly. “The panel who judged Felassan’s final project were not very pleased about the inherent commentary.” 

“That’s why you like it, isn’t it?” she teased. 

Solas chuckled. “Perhaps. Felassan and I don’t share the same opinions on everything, but we do agree that many of our artistic colleagues could stand to be shaken from the towers of their own prideful preconceptions.” He folded his arms and thoughtfully studied the piece. “It is a good reminder of the value of humility. That even the wisest person can be struck low by their own foolishness.”

Nare studied his profile with a pang. His expression was calm and not at all sad, but she couldn't help but remember the texted conversation they’d had last night, about keeping this a secret from the people that mattered most to them both.

“Do you think you’re being foolish?” she asked.

He looked her in the eye. “I know I am,” he said. “And you know that you are being foolish, too.”

Her belly jolted with anxiety. “But you still… You still want me to be here, right?”

His expression softened. Then, to her surprise, he reached out and trailed his knuckles along the angle of her jaw. “I can think of nothing I want more than to have you here right now,” he said softly.

Nare stared at him with her heart in her mouth. The touch of his hand on her jaw was infinitely gentle, but the flood of sensation it triggered in her body was so intense that it stopped her breath. 

His thumb brushed over her chin, just a whisper away from her lower lip, and Nare dragged in a tremulous breath. Then Solas’s gaze dropped to the floor just behind her.

A smile lit his face, and he lowered his hand from her jaw. “Turn around,” he said quietly. “Someone would like to meet you.”

She swallowed hard, then dumbly turned around. Peering warily around the corner of the kitchen doorway was a beautiful tawny-coloured cat with a black face and ears, black paws, and sky-blue eyes. 

Nare smiled despite her thwarted lust. “Is this Fenor?” she said. 

“This is Fenor,” he confirmed. 

“Oh, she’s so pretty,” Nare enthused. She handed Solas her cup of coffee, then kneeled on the floor and made a kissing noise. “Hi Fenor,” she crooned. “Come here.” 

The cat stared at her, and Nare smiled and held out one hand. “Come here, baby,” she said softly. “It’s okay.” 

Fenor eyed her stonily for a moment longer, then eventually came out of the kitchen with her tail held low, and Nare sat very still as Fenor approached her. The cat cautiously sniffed her fingers, and when she finally rubbed her face against Nare’s fingers, Nare gently scratched Fenor’s chin. 

Fenor leaned her head into the scratch, and Nare smiled. “Oh good,” she said to Solas. “If your cat didn’t like me, I think I’d have to leave.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad you understand the pecking order in this apartment. She is the real ruler here, not I.”

Nare grinned and continued to scratch Fenor’s chin and neck until Fenor wandered away with her tail held high. She looked up at Solas with a smile, and her heart banged in her chest as she realized the position she was in: kneeling on the floor by Solas’s feet — a close approximation of one of her fondest fantasies. If she just turned around on her knees so she was facing him, so his cock was at her eye level… 

Then Solas reached down and ran his palm gently over her hair. 

She froze. A flood of icy warmth trickled down her spine, and once again, she found herself speechless, stunned by his gesture and by the intensity of her body’s own reaction to it. His gentle hand on her head, smoothing over her hair in a tender gesture: there was nothing inherently dominant about what he’d just done, but with Nare on her knees like this, she was seized with the sudden urge to beg. To do whatever he told her to do, to say ‘yes, professor’ until he gave her everything she had never been able to admit before that she wanted… 

“Come, Nare,” he said softly, and he held out his hand. “I’ll show you my studio.”

She didn’t want to see his studio. She wanted him to bend her over one of the nice couches in his living room and push up her skirt with his beautiful artist’s hands.

Mind muddled and slowed by lust, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She followed him wordlessly past the kitchen toward a hallway that led to the western end of the apartment, and her heart thumped again. The hall ended in a room with a slightly-ajar door that had to be Solas’s bedroom. Was he… maybe he was taking her to his bedroom instead?

Her stomach flipped with hope — and, admittedly, a bit of nerves — but Solas didn’t lead her to the end of the hall. Instead, he led her into the first room on the left.

His studio was not as large as she’d expected, but it was professionally lit and comfortable-looking. The room boasted one open easel with two others folded at the side, a drawing table that was covered with a dropcloth, a long table covered in painting supplies and equipment, and a few bookshelves. 

Solas pointed at one such shelf. “There is the infamous pile of my sketches,” he said drolly.

She looked where he was pointing, and a hint of amusement pierced through her distracting desire. She padded over to the bookshelf, which was strewn not just with cardstock sketches, but with old journals and magazines and a smattering of art supplies. 

She pulled out a sketch at random, and her eyebrows rose in genuine appreciation. It was a sketch of one of his murals — the only one that he had ever done here in Orlais. “Wow,” she breathed, and she looked up at him. “Solas, you should really file these. This is worth hundreds of dollars.”

He huffed and ran a hand over his scalp. “I would not sell such works. They’re for my records only.”

“Well, you’re not keeping your records very well,” she scolded.

He chuckled. “I can just imagine Athera nodding along with you.”

Nare barked out a little laugh. “Not even. She would seriously have a heart attack if she saw this shelf.” She turned back to the shelf and began picking carefully through his sketches, and with every sketch she saw, she felt more and more like her heart was swelling with affection and admiration both. Mural studies, landscape studies, sketches of Fenor with a special focus on the texture of her fur, studies of skeletons both animal and humanoid, quick and messy sketches of fantastical creatures and odd twisted figures …

She brushed her fingers lovingly over a sketch of a surreal landscape of floating stairways and arches, interspersed with stylized trees. “Is this a dreamscape?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said. “It is also a study I drew in preparation for a mural.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You made this into a mural? Where is it?”

He smiled faintly. “In my bedroom.”

His bedroom. His bedroom which _had_ to be that room at the end of the hall, just a few steps away… 

“Can I see it?” she blurted. “The mural in your bedroom?” She didn’t care anymore how desperate or impatient she sounded; she wanted him, his lips and his hands and his cock that she could _see_ as a tempting bulge in his soft linen pants, and she’d had enough of waiting. 

“Not yet,” he said, to her dismay. “You need to be patient.”

“But I’ve been patient,” she complained. “I waited for two whole days and I didn’t ask to see your bedroom right away when I got here.”

A broad smile lit his face. “You think it is patience to wait for ten minutes before asking me to see my bedroom?”

“It’s been more than ten minutes,” she said defensively. “It’s been like twenty.”

He gave her an arch look. “You are being very mouthy, Nare.”

 _Yes,_ she thought excitedly; he was starting to sound a little stern now. She widened her eyes coyly. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked.

He tilted his head chidingly. “I will have to discipline you, unfortunately.”

She swallowed hard, riled anew by his enticing threat. “How are you going to do that?” she asked breathily.

“By teaching you patience, among other things,” he said. “I’ll do that by making you wait. To that end, you won’t be seeing my bedroom anytime soon.”

 _Among other things?_ she thought with a fresh wrench of want. What kinds of ‘other things’ was he going to do to discipline her? “But…” 

He tilted his head chidingly, and her belly hopped with lust. What was the best way to make him kiss her? Should she defer to him, or should she provoke him?

She decided on provocation. “What if making me wait isn’t discipline enough?” she asked.

He studied her in silence for a moment, then clasped his hands behind his back. “Nare,” he said quietly.

He was starting to sound really stern now. “Yes?” she said.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, and she deferentially dropped her gaze. “Yes, professor?”

“Come closer,” he said.

Oh gods, when he sounded so bossy like this… Her groin pulsed with heat, and she hastened over to stand in front him. Once she was standing in front of him, he lifted his chin and slowly inspected her body.

She shifted restlessly under his assessing gaze. She was fully dressed, but the way his eyes were sliding over her in this slow and lingering way made her feel as though she was naked. By the time his eyes returned to her face, her heart was throbbing between her legs, and Solas was smirking.

“Why are you laughing at me?” she complained. 

His smile widened slightly. “Because I am fairly certain that making you wait will be punishment enough,” he told her. Then, finally, he lifted his hand and cradled her cheek in his palm. 

She closed her eyes and turned her face toward his hand. He brushed his thumb over her lips, then suddenly gripped her chin. 

She gasped. “Please,” she blurted.

He lifted her chin. “Please what?” he said quietly. 

“Please, professor,” she begged. “Please kiss me.”

He studied her for another torturous moment until she was practically vibrating with impatience. When he released her chin to slid his fingers around the nape of her neck, her lips parted on a tiny gasp. 

“Solas, please,” she whimpered.

“Patience,” he murmured. He lowered his face to hers, brushing his nose gently over her cheekbone and hovering his lips over hers in a torturously careful way. Right when Nare was about to beg him again, he _finally_ kissed her. 

She melted toward him, opening her lips to invite him in. He graciously accepted her welcome, tugging gently on her lower lip before slanting his mouth over hers and stroking her tongue with his own. His kiss was slow and meticulous, and his fingers on her neck were slow and gentle too as he caressed her throat and her line of her jaw.

Then his other hand rose to stroke her hair. His fingers drifted over the crown of her head, smoothing gently over her braid before twining in the loose waves, and Nare panted fitfully, anticipation and hope rising in her chest as his elegant fingers gathered around a handful of her hair.

Then, to her delight, Solas pulled gently on her hair. 

A gasp of pleasure clogged her throat, and she craned her head back into the slow tug of his hand. When his other hand slid around to cradle the front of her throat, she couldn’t help herself; a moan burst from her lips, and she slipped her fingers up beneath the hem of his shirt.

He broke their kiss with a soft grunt, and Nare moaned again; his abs were hard and his skin was hot beneath her hands, and she was struck by sudden urge to kiss his stomach and feel the velvet heat of his skin beneath her lips. 

He stroked her throat, and she curled her fingers longingly against his abs, torn between the pleasure of his hands on her neck and his body beneath her palms. “Solas,” she mewled.

“I know,” he murmured. Then, without releasing her hair, he curved his other hand around the outside of her thigh. 

She stopped breathing. His hand was just resting on her thigh, just resting there barely doing anything, his palm warm and his thumb gentle as it stroked that bare patch of her skin that was exposed by her skirt and her socks, and Nare was so turned on that she thought she might actually melt into the floor. Fuck, she wanted this so much, so fucking much, no one had touched her like this in so long — no, scratch that. No one had ever touched her like this, so slowly and gently instead of reaching straight between her legs like every other guy had done before— 

A sudden bolt of anxiety shot through her gut, and she tensed. And to her surprise, Solas released her. 

His fingers left her hair and her thigh, and he cradled her cheek in his hand. “What’s the matter?” 

_Fuck,_ she thought. She hadn’t realized that her reaction was that noticeable. Her earlier anxiety had just come out of nowhere, and… damn it, _fuck_ , this was what she’d been worried about.

She took a careful breath. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

His expression grew slightly sad, and he took her hand. “Come with me,” he said, and he led her out of his studio and back to the living room. 

He ushered her onto one of the couches and sat beside her. “You told me before that you trusted me,” he said.

She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I do,” she said plaintively. “But…” 

Solas took her hand. “There is nothing you need to hide from me. If there is something you want me to do…” 

“It’s not that,” she mumbled. “You already know what I want.”

“Something I have done wrong, then?” he suggested. “If I am going too quickly—” 

“No,” she said hastily. “No no, it’s not that. You’re going too slow, if anything.” She tried for a cheeky smile, but Solas continued to gaze at her with those serious eyes.

She sighed. “Honestly, it’s not you. It’s… there’s something I…" She faltered. Fuck, she didn’t want to get into this. What if the worst came to pass and he changed his mind about her? 

He squeezed her hand. She took another deep breath, then forced herself to just say it. “I have pain,” she said clumsily. “It… hurts when I have sex. I’ve gone to doctors and therapists and stuff and it hasn’t helped, so I just…” She trailed off awkwardly and stared at her lap, afraid to see his reaction. 

He squeezed her fingers again. “For how long have you had this pain?”

He sounded so calm. Was that a good thing? She swallowed hard. “For a few years now,” she said in a small voice. “More than five years. It just… started happening and I’ve had it with every guy I’ve ever slept with since then.”

“Do you have the pain when you’re on your own?” he asked. “When you’re touching yourself?”

An unexpected pulse of excitement budded between her legs at his candid question. “N-no,” she said. “It’s fine when I’m… when I’m masturbating. But I don’t use anything that’s…” Oh gods, her face was burning. “I don’t use any toys that are the size of an actual cock, though,” she muttered. 

“The pain only happens when someone is moving inside of you, then?”

She shifted awkwardly on the couch. How was he so calm about this when she was feeling so fucking awkward? “Yes,” she said. “The worst moment is, um, when a guy first, um… when he first puts it in.”

“Is this the reason you haven’t had sex in three years?” he said softly. 

Nare nodded and stared fixedly at her lap. When Solas spoke again, his voice was even softer than before. “What did you think would happen when you told me this?”

 _I thought you wouldn't want me anymore,_ she thought. As soon as the unspoken fear crossed her mind, she felt her throat thickening with tears.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I just… it’s awkward to talk about.”

“Nare,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” she mumbled.

He stroked her wrist gently with his thumb, and the tenderness of his gesture made her eyes burn. “I need you to trust me,” he said. “I can’t touch you the way I want to if I am worried that you don’t trust me.”

She dragged in a breath, then turned her head away from him. “I was… scared that you wouldn’t want to bother with me anymore,” she said shakily.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because there’s something wrong with me,” she burst out. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

He shifted closer to her, close enough that their legs were touching. “How could you think you would disappoint me?”

“Because — what if we’re about to have sex and then I can’t do it because it hurts?” she said in a rush. “I don’t want you to think I’m a cocktease or something. I don’t—”

He cut her off. “I would never think that of you.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” she blurted. “I want you so much and I’m always talking a big game and asking you to fuck me, but what if—” She broke off abruptly and pressed her lips together. Her voice was wobbling, and if she said another word, she was afraid she’d burst into tears. 

He stroked her hair, and a sob burst from her throat. _Fuck,_ she thought miserably, but it was too late; the tears were rolling down her cheeks in scalding rivulets.

“Come here,” he said huskily. He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her close, and the next thing she knew, she was huddled in his lap and clutching his shirt while he wrapped his arms around her.

His hand was smoothing along her back in a soothing caress, and she sobbed again and pressed her face into his shoulder. She _hated_ that she was crying all over him like this, but at the same time, it felt like a dam was bursting inside of her chest, and it was almost a relief. 

For several long minutes, Solas held her and stroked her back, and with every gentle pass of his hand on her back, she felt more comforted and safe. When her tears had finally stopped, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Do you remember the conversation we had about your studies?” he murmured. “How you told me that you felt you had to finish them, even if you disliked the direction they were going?”

She sniffled. “Of course. I always listen to you, remember?”

He gave her a faint smile for her attempt at levity. “Then you’ll remember what I said your goals should be when you’re creating art.”

She nodded and gingerly wiped her eyes. “You said that I shouldn’t aim for the piece to be completed, but to just… make something I’m happy with, even if it’s not a finished piece.”

“Yes,” Solas said. “From what you’ve told me, I wonder if your attitude toward sex mirrors your attitude toward your own artwork.”

She drew back slightly in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“What is your idea of a successful sexual experience?” he asked. “How do you decide if it has gone well or poorly?”

She scoffed. “If I could even go through with it, then it was a success.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That is the only metric you use?”

“That’s how bad it was,” she said frankly. “I couldn’t even do that the last time I had sex.”

His eyebrows creased in a frown. “My suspicions are correct, then. Your goal was to complete a sexual act, regardless of whether it felt good or not.”

“I… yeah, I guess so,” she said. “But I think most people think of it that way. The guys I was with, at least.”

Solas gave her an arch look. “If that is the attitude of the men you laid with before, then they did not deserve to touch you.”

She blinked in surprise. She’d never really thought to blame her pain on the men she’d been with before, but she didn’t _really_ think it was their fault. If there wasn’t something wrong with her, maybe the quick-and-eager approach would have worked for her. Besides, she hadn’t told those guys that she had pain during sex, so she couldn’t really blame them for not accommodating her. But if she had told them, then they probably wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with her in the first place…

“Nare, look at me,” Solas said.

She looked at him, pulled from her painful thoughts by the firmness of his tone, and her belly flipped at how serious he looked.

“When you and I have sex, our goal will not be to finish the act,” he said. “I refuse to aim for something so crude and base. What we will aim for is whatever brings pleasure to us both, which means that it must painless for you.” He lowered his voice. “Even if that means I won’t be fucking you.”

A pulse of excitement jolted her belly. She had _never_ heard Solas say the word ‘fuck’ before.

 _Oh gods,_ she thought. She forced herself to gulp down a breath. “But I _want_ you to fuck me,” she said.

“And I will, if it doesn’t hurt you,” he said. “But that won’t be our goal. Completing the act of sex will not be our goal. Our goal will be mutual pleasure, in whatever form that happens to take.”

The little wriggle of desire in her belly thrummed more strongly. “So you’re saying that having sex should be like creating a good piece of art,” she said, semi-jokingly.

“Exactly,” he said. He quirked a playful eyebrow. “You see, you _are_ a good student.”

Her desire flared again — a _very_ welcome feeling, considering the difficult conversation they’d just had. She laughed, then gazed coyly at him. “Will you teach me how to have good art-y sex, professor?”

His smile widened. “It will be my pleasure to teach you this, Nare. And I already have an assignment for you.” 

She blinked, surprised but intrigued. “An assignment?”

“Yes,” he said. He gently eased her off of his lap, then stood and gestured for her to follow him.

She trailed him into the cozy TV room. He sat on the couch, then patted the cushion beside him. “Sit with me.”

She obediently sat beside him and tucked her feet up on the couch, and he picked up the remote control. “Have you seen a film called ‘ _Portrait de la jeune fille en feu_ ’?”

She gaped at him. “You can speak Orlesian?”

He gave her a chiding look. “Pay attention, Nare. Have you seen the film?”

“U-um, no,” she said. “What’s… what does it mean?”

“It means ‘Portrait of a young woman on fire’,” he said. “It’s an Orlesian film about two women: an artist who is commissioned to create a portrait of a young woman who is about to be married against her will. The twist is this: the betrothed woman refuses to be painted, so the artist is forced to study her during the day and to paint her portrait from memory at night.”

Nare raised her eyebrows, intrigued despite herself. “Oh. That would be difficult even for a master artist.”

“Yes, it would,” he said. “I’m interested to know your thoughts on this film, particularly given that you are a portrait artist yourself.”

“Okay,” she said. “Is that the assignment?”

He shot her another chiding look. “Will you let me finish explaining?”

She bit her lip to hide her smile and folded her hands in her lap. “Sorry, professor. Go on.”

Solas leaned back and stretched his arm out along the back of the couch. “I will tell you about the film while you’re watching, to enhance your learning. Your assignment is to listen to what I say, and to do as I tell you and nothing else.” He gave her a serious look. “This means that you are not to touch me unless I tell you to do so. You’re not to touch yourself unless I say so.” He lowered his voice to a slightly deeper and more intimate pitch. “You are not to come unless I say so. Do you understand?”

Her pussy throbbed — actually throbbed as though her heart was beating between her legs. “Yes,” she breathed.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, professor,” she said promptly.

“Good,” he said. He flicked around on his TV, and a moment later, the film started.

He put the remote control aside. “This film is set during the Storm Age. Obviously a time when same-gender romances were forbidden. But calling this a film a forbidden romance cheapens the beauty and the tragedy of it.” 

She nodded, enraptured by his voice as he continued to talk about the film. She gazed blankly at the screen and pretended to watch the movie, but she couldn’t focus. Instead, her attention was drawn to the sound of Solas’s voice – and also to his scent. She’d noticed it dozens of times before when they were in his office, and particularly just now when she was curled in his arms on the couch, but now that she was sitting right beside him and forbidden from doing anything else, his scent was becoming increasingly preoccupying. 

He smelled… Creators, he smelled like heaven. Fresh and faintly herbal like soap, but beneath that was _his_ smell, the smell of his skin: a sweet and slightly sleepy scent that made her think of sun-drenched pillows in the morning. 

“Nare, are you paying attention?” Solas said.

 _Oops,_ she thought. “Y-yes, professor,” she stammered.

“Then what is the name of the artist in this film?” 

“Um…” She faltered for a second, then glanced at the screen. “Um, Marianne.”

He smiled. “Very good.”

 _Thank fuck for subtitles,_ she thought, and she tilted her head cheekily. “I told you I’m a very good student.”

His expression became faintly censorious. “Your rudeness might indicate otherwise.”

She tried hard not to laugh and shifted slightly closer to him on the couch, wanting him to touch her. “Where in Orlais was this filmed?”

“It was filmed close to Montsimmard, just off the coast of Lake Celestine,” he said. “I have been there for a conference, in fact. It is a very beautiful location.” Then he placed his hand on her knee.

Her breath stalled in her lungs. Solas slowly shifted his hand up to the bare skin of her thigh and continued to speak. “The coastline is reminiscent of the coast of Arlathan, in fact. I took a great many photos while I was there, and during one night, I had a particularly vivid dream: a pristine coastline, its salt-white cliffs being beaten relentlessly by the sea. Against my expectations, however, the cliffs, weren’t worn away. They became fuller with every crashing wave until the waves disappeared completely, leaving a pristine plain in their place. It was… rather unnerving, in fact.” 

Nare gulped in a breath and nodded mindlessly. Solas’s hand was curved around her thigh now, his thumb slowly caressing the soft inner margin of her thigh, and if truth be told, she barely knew what he was saying. 

Then he leaned toward her and spoke softly into her ear. “Let me see if you’ve been paying attention. What is the name of the betrothed woman in this film? The woman whose portrait will be painted?”

A spill of desire trickled down the back of her neck. His lips were so closer to her ear, so close to her throat, so fucking close to where she wanted him to kiss, and still his thumb was brushing torturously over the skin of her inner thigh. 

She forced her muddled brain to think. “Um, it’s… Héloїse,” she said weakly. 

He smiled slowly. “Very good,” he murmured. He brushed his nose over the corner of her jaw. 

Desperate for a firmer touch, Nare tilted her head to the side, and when Solas pressed his lips lightly to the side of her neck, she moaned. “Professor, please…”

He hummed against her throat, then gave her a skin a tiny nip before leaning away. “Sit here, Nare,” he said, and he patted his thigh.

 _Fuck yes,_ she thought feverishly. She jumped up and seated herself on his thigh, and without thinking, she petted his chest, eager to feel the heat and the hardness of his body.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away. “Did I say you could touch me?” he demanded.

Her heart pounded between her legs. Fuck, _fuck,_ the sharpness of his voice… “No,” she squeaked. 

His grip tightened deliciously on her wrist. “No, what?”

“No, professor,” she blurted.

“Good,” he said. “Now pay close attention.” He released her wrist and placed his hand on her thigh. “As I’m sure you can imagine, a real artist was hired to do the portraits for this film — an Orlesian oil painter named Hélѐne Delmaire.”

Nare pressed her lips together to stop herself from moaning. His voice was hypnotically smooth and his hand was torturously gentle, his fingers careful and warm as they traced the edge of her sock and caressed the inside of her thigh, and Nare parted her legs a little bit to invite him to touch her. 

To her great delight, he took the invitation: his fingers began slowly sliding higher up her thigh and inside her skirt. “In an interview, Helene said that she painted six or seven versions of each portrait in this film, and that she worked for sixteen hours a day.”

“Sixteen?” Nare said, surprise pulling her very briefly from her lust. “That’s insane.”

Solas chuckled — a soft little purr of mirth that instantly plunged her back into her frothing lust. “It is an incredible amount of work, yes,” he said. Then he stroked the edge of her panties — the edge right next to the pulsing center of her heat. 

She jolted and spread her legs wider, but Solas ignored her; his fingers traced the edge of her panties, almost-but-not-quite close enough to touch her folds through the lace, and his voice was calm and cool when he spoke again. “I am curious: what is the longest amount of time that you can spend painting per day?”

“Um…” Shit, her voice was shaking with need. She swallowed hard and tried to think through the feeling of his fingers toying with her panties. “Um, I… six hours is about the… the most I can work before I get too tired to do anything good anymore.”

“Hm,” he said. “Interesting.” Then he pressed his fingers directly between her legs. 

A gasp of pleasure burst from her throat. She arched her spine, and his arm tightened around her waist to hold her still. 

He smoothed his fingers gently between her legs. “You’re wet, Nare,” he murmured. “I can feel you through your lingerie.”

“Yes,” she mewled. 

He continued to pet her pussy as he spoke. “I expect that your bra is silk and lace as well?”

“Yes, professor,” she panted.

“Did you choose such pretty underthings just for me?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “I wanted to look nice for you.”

“You chose well,” he assured her. “You look very beautiful. And very much like a student.”

His tone was slightly wry now, and despite her mind-numbing lust, she smiled. She had purposely dressed this way in the hopes of evoking a student-y feel.

Solas was still speaking. “Did you want to remind me of what a good student you are?”

“Yes, professor, that’s what I wanted,” she said obediently.

“You did very well,” he said. “Now sit here, between my legs.”

She swiftly did as she was told, and before she had even settled fully between his legs, she felt the hard press of his erection against the small of her back.

Her mind went blank — utterly blank except for one thought: Solas’s cock. His cock, his thick hard cock, the ridge of it rising in his thin linen pants and pushing into the small of her back… 

“Lean back and spread your legs,” Solas said. 

She instantly obeyed him, leaning back into his chest and pressing her tailbone against his cock as she parted her legs, and she was rewarded by his guttural grunt in her ear. 

She eagerly pressed her ass back into his cock again. Then his hand wrapped around her throat from behind.

She gasped, then gasped more fitfully still as his mouth pressed against her ear. “I didn’t say you could push back against me,” he growled.

She moaned and twisted her hips, riled by the depth of his voice and his hand around her throat. When his grip tightened slightly, she sobbed with longing. “Solas, please—”

He cut her off in a hard voice. “Did I say you could push back against me, Nare? Did I give you that instruction?”

“No, professor,” she whined.

“That’s correct. I didn’t,” he said, and his grip on her throat loosened slightly. “Now sit still for me.”

She forced herself to remain still and to focus on her breath. Then Solas’s free hand found her thigh once more.

He pulled her legs farther apart, then traced his fingers teasingly over her inner thigh. “I can feel your wetness even here, Nare. Your eagerness is painting your thighs.”

She nodded slightly, as much as she could with her throat still held loosely in his grip. “I want you so much, professor,” she mewled. “I want you to fuck me.”

He hummed a soft acknowledgement. “Close your eyes. I want you to imagine something.”

She closed her eyes, and Solas released her throat and placed both of his palms on her thighs to hold them apart. “Imagine me sitting across from you right now,” he murmured. “Imagine me staring at you with your legs spread wide, showing yourself off to me.”

A bolt of excitement shot through her belly. His hands were sliding slowly up her thighs as he spoke, sliding higher over her hips and up to her waist and stroking her desire higher with every word. 

His hands drifted higher, his palms hot and smooth as they glided up inside of her sweater and over her ribs toward her breasts, and his voice dropped to a low and intimate purr. “Imagine me admiring you. How wet you are, how perfectly disciplined you are.” He cupped her breasts and thumbed the peaks of her nipples through her bra. “Such an excellent student, showing yourself off to your professor, asking to be fucked.” 

Her entire body pulsed with heat. Hearing him say the word ‘fuck’, hearing that blunt word in his caramel-smooth voice… she had never heard anything so erotic in her life. 

She arched helplessly into his hands and reached over her shoulder to pet his neck. “Please,” she mewled. “Professor, please, I want you to fuck me…” 

He pinched her nipples through her bra, drawing a gasp from her throat. “Put your hands on my thighs, Nare,” he commanded. “Don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

She whined with want but did as she was told. Solas caressed her nipples through her bra, then slowly glided his hands back down her body to rest on her thighs. 

“I’m going to touch you now,” he said. 

“Yes,” she burst out. “Yes, yes—”

He nipped the side of her neck to silence her, then spoke again in a commanding tone. “I’m going to touch you now, and you will come when I tell you to and not before. Do you understand?”

“Yes, professor!” she burst out. “I’ll do exactly what you say, I promise.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s very good, Nare.” Then his fingers were between her legs once more.

She whined and twisted her hips. He was petting her through her panties, stroking the sensitive flesh of her folds and pressing indirectly against her clit, and it felt so good but so terrible at the same time. She was desperate for him, desperate enough that any touch felt good, but it felt so good that she just wanted _more._

She wriggled between his legs and dug her nails into his thighs, and he spoke again in that soft crooning voice. “Be still, Nare. Enjoy it. The goal is not to finish; it is to feel.”

“I want to feel more,” she complained. “I want you to touch me.”

His fingers went still. “Are you talking back?”

She sobbed with thwarted desire and didn’t reply. Then Solas’s other hand rose to curl around her throat once more, and her desire ratcheted higher. Fuck, _fuck,_ when he held her throat this way… 

“Are you talking back, Nare?” he said sternly.

“No, professor!” she cried. 

“Good,” he purred, and he continued petting her lightly through her panties. 

She writhed and gasped, aroused almost to the point of tears by his hand around her throat and his fingers teasing her clit. By the time his hand was finally inching its way into her panties, she was sobbing for breath.

He stroked two fingers firmly from her cleft up to her swollen clit, and she almost came from the sheer pleasure of his skin on hers. “Oh fuck,” she whined.

He gently squeezed her throat. “Don’t come,” he warned. “Do not come until I say that you can.”

She sobbed again and nodded. Solas stroked her clit in a gentle rhythm, and Nare thrust her hips toward his fingers. She could hear his breathing growing heavy behind her, feel the heat of his chest through his shirt and the hardness of his cock pressing into the base of her spine. Her orgasm was rising with every second, with Solas’s every ragged breath in her ear, and gods, _fuck,_ she couldn’t take this for much longer. 

She was almost there. She was almost there, but Solas hadn’t said she could… 

“Now,” he commanded. “Come for me right now.” His finger glided around her clit, and she instantly fell apart.

The pleasure shattered through her body like an exploding bulb of glass, piercing down to her calves and the tips of her fingers and up to her throat. She arched viciously into him and cried out, wanting him to keep touching her and wringing every drop of pleasure from her desperate body, and when her wonderful climax finally started to recede, she realized something terrible: it wasn’t enough. 

It was incredible and mind-numbing, far better than any orgasm she could give herself with her own fingers, but it only made her want Solas more. 

He released her throat, and she slumped back against his chest, gasping and trembling and eager. “Please,” she mewled. “Solas, please, I…” She exhaled tremulously, then squeezed his thighs. “I need more.”

He chuckled softly and kissed her ear. “You are very greedy, Nare.”

“Greedy for you,” she retorted. 

He hummed, a satisfied little sound. “I’m pleased to hear it. Because I am not nearly finished teaching you today.”

A fresh wave of heat roared through her body, and she nodded. “Please, professor, teach me something else.”

“All right, since you asked so politely,” he said. He patted her knee. “Stand up and face me.”

She swiftly stood, and he gave her another instruction. “Remove your sweater.”

 _Finally,_ she thought with no small amount of excitement. If Solas was finally asking her to take off some clothes, maybe that meant he would fuck her soon. Maybe it meant he would take some off as well! 

“Will you—” She pressed her lips together before the question could come out.

He lifted his chin, and she dropped her eyes humbly to the floor. “Nothing, professor,” she said.

He nodded in satisfaction, then leaned back on the couch and spread his legs — a supremely cocky pose. “Take off that sweater now,” he said. “Do not make me ask again.” 

She swiftly pulled her sweater off and tossed it on the couch, then self-consciously patted her slightly-messy hair. Solas smiled faintly at her, his eyes moving slowly over the swell of her breasts until she was squirming. Then he gestured casually for her to approach. “Come,” he said.

She quickly took a step closer to him. Then he leaned forward and lifted the hem of her skirt. 

A jolt of anticipation pulsed between her legs. Solas was studying her panties now, his expression intense and hungry, and the longer he looked at her, the more her pussy seemed to thrum with want. 

She shifted restlessly, and Solas shot her a look — a brief and heated look of amusement that made her want to beg. Before she could say a word, he lifted his other hand and pulled the crotch of her panties to the side.

Then he made a sound — a half-groan, half-sigh that instantly made every inch of her skin feel hot. “ _Ina’lan’ehn,_ ” he breathed, and without any warning, he dipped his head low and slipped his tongue between her legs. 

She gasped and grabbed his shoulders, shocked and instantly desperate once more from the touch of his tongue. He slid his tongue carefully around her clit before kissing her, and the heat of his open mouth on her pussy almost brought her to her knees.

He growled and lapped hungrily at her clit, and she mewled and gripped his shoulders for support. “Solas, please, please—” 

He suddenly leaned away from her and stood up. “Bend over,” he said. “Put your hands on the couch.” 

A bone-melting thrill pulsed through her blood. His voice, his posture, the way he was looming over her like he was going to devour her, and — oh _fuck_ , he was taking off his shirt! He was half-naked, finally, _finally_ , and she’d never seen anything so fucking gorgeous in her life— 

He dropped his shirt on the floor and narrowed his eyes. “Nare, bend over the couch _right now._ ”

The blood was abandoning her brain and flooding to her groin so fast that she thought would faint. Wordlessly, she planted her hands on the couch and bent at the waist, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Is this okay?” she said breathlessly. 

“Yes,” he bit off. “That is perfect. Stay just like that.” He reached around her waist and unbuckled her belt, then roughly pulled her skirt down.

The fabric pooled at her ankles, and her excitement ratcheted higher. When Solas began plucking at the drawstring of his pants, her excitement leapt even higher — excitement and just a hint of nerves. Was he going to fuck her now? She was ready — at least, she thought she was ready, she wanted him and she was wet, she was definitely ready. 

Solas paused with his pants half-untied, then gently smoothed his hand over her upraised bottom. “I am not going to fuck you, Nare.”

Her heart twisted with disappointment and just a tiny hint of relief. “W-why?” she asked.

“Because you aren’t ready,” he said.

She stared at him, both grateful and slightly unsettled that he knew this. “Why… how do you know?”

“Because you aren’t begging,” he said. He finished untying his pants and pulled out his cock.

Her eyes fell shamelessly to his cock. He wrapped his fist around his shaft and squeezed, and Nare’s mouth dropped open with longing. “Solas…”

He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “I will not fuck you until you are begging for it,” he said quietly. “Not until ‘please’ is the only word that is falling from your lips.” He stroked himself slowly, his fist gliding all the way up along his length to caress the head before slipping back down to the root, and Nare hungrily tracked the movement of his hand as though she had been hypnotized. 

“I will not fuck you until I am absolutely certain that it is what you want,” Solas said.

She stared at him, rendered speechless by a combination of gratitude and greed. His hand was still sliding along his length, and she _wanted_ that length inside of her, but to know that there was no pressure for it to happen right away, or even today if she couldn’t bear it… 

His expression grew tender, as though he could understand her thoughts without hearing them said. He smoothed his hand over her bottom once more. “Do you wish to know what I will do instead?”

She nodded eagerly, and Solas continued to smooth his hand over her bottom as he spoke. “I will kneel behind you and admire how wet you are,” he said quietly. “When you are dripping for me, I will taste the honey between your legs and make you come for me.” He smoothed his hand down along the back of her thigh. “Is that what you want, Nare?”

“Yes!” she blurted.

He suddenly squeezed her buttock. “Yes, what?”

Fuck, _fuck,_ his hand squeezing her ass: it was so nearly a fulfillment of another fantasy she had, something she wanted him to do but didn’t quite have the guts to say yet, and the feeling of his firm fingers on her ass made her totally desperate once more. 

She lowered herself to her elbows and arched her spine. “Yes, professor,” she whimpered. “I want you to lick me and make me come.”

He reached over and stroked her hair. “Good. Very good,” he said. Then he was kneeling behind her and peeling her panties down. 

The silky fabric stuck to her flesh before peeling down, soaked through from her desire, and Solas let out another of those gorgeous groaning sounds. “ _Mar’odhe ir’on,_ ” he breathed, and he slipped two fingers along her slick flesh. 

She gasped and jerked her hips. He was petting her so gently, and his other hand was smoothing slowly over her ass in a dreamily slow caress. He was being so gentle and slow again, and it was such a contrast with his brusqueness from a minute ago that she couldn’t stand it. 

“Please,” she mewled. 

His finger glided slowly over her folds. “Please what?”

“Please, I want…” She gulped and twisted her hips, unsure how to formulate what she wanted exactly. She loved his slow gentleness and the teasing way he was talking to her, the teasing way he ran his hands so carefully over her body and made her so aware of every inch of her skin. But she wanted that other side of him, too. She wanted his rough side, too — the rough side that watched her hungrily when she was being bad. The side that penned her against his office door, that squeezed her ass and commanded her to bend over the couch and growled carnal things in her ear. 

She wanted every side of Solas — his gentleness and his roughness, his intelligence and his humour, his tenderness and his untamed sexual heat, his wisdom and his pride. She wanted everything, everything he had to offer and everything he’d felt he had to hide, and she wanted it _now._

He brushed his knuckle over her clit. “Tell me, Nare. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” she blurted. “I want you. I want… I want you to be however you want with me. I — please don’t hide anything from me,” she begged. “I want you to… to show whatever side you want to me.”

His hands went still for a moment. Then he brushed her clit again. “You like when I am rough, don’t you?”

A thrill of anticipation traced down her spine. His tone was gentle but musing, almost playful. “Yes,” she panted. “I like gentle too, but I also like you rough.”

“Interesting,” he mused. “Then I will be gentle now, and after you come, I will be rough.” Without any further delay, he pressed his lips between her legs. 

She moaned and clenched her fists in the cushions of the couch. The heat of his tongue, his mouth, gods, his perfect lips: he was kissing her so thoroughly, caressing her folds with his lips while his tongue slid smoothly over her clit, and still his one hand was smoothing over her bottom in the gentlest caress. 

She panted with pleasure and arched her spine, wanting to show herself off to him as much as she could, and Solas hummed with approval. He lapped at her clit, long careful licks before kissing her pussy once more, and Nare moaned and twisted her hips. His mouth was so warm and sweet, coaxing her pleasure to rise with every careful lap of his tongue, and when his other hand rose to pet her lust-slicked folds, the added pleasure of his fingers only fuelled her want.

She gasped and pressed her chest into the couch, writhing her hips in time with his tongue and his fingers. She loved exactly what he was giving her, but somehow she still wanted _more_. Her pleasure was rising, coiling tighter in her abdomen as Solas brought her closer to her release, and as the wave rose higher and stole her breath, she panted desperately, unable to name exactly what she wanted when she already felt so fucking good.

Then Solas slowly slid one finger inside of her.

She cried out with rapture. Yes, _yes,_ that was — the fullness, the soothing fullness of his finger inside of her and the smoothness of his tongue on her clit, fuck, _please_ — 

“Please!” she wailed. “Solas, please, I want you to fuck me, I — _ah_!” She came suddenly, a roar of pleasure that pulsed from her pussy through her limbs like an unstoppable wave. As Solas licked her and curled his finger inside of her, she arched her spine and clenched her fingers and sobbed her pleasure helplessly into his couch. 

Then his hands and his mouth left her body. A moment later, he was pulling her upright with one hand on her arm.

Boneless with pleasure, she passively allowed him to drag her back against his chest so the hot length of his cock was pressed to the small of her back. When his hand rose to wrap around her throat again, she dragged in a shaky gasp.

Then his lips were pressed to her ear. “That old Dalish curse,” he said roughly. “Tell me again how it goes.”

Her desire rocketed to a fever pitch, as swiftly as though she hadn’t just climaxed. “M-may the Dread Wolf take you,” she whimpered.

He gently squeezed her throat. “What was that?”

“May the Dread Wolf take you!” she cried.

“Is that what you want, Nare?” he asked.

“Yes!” she gasped.

He stroked her jaw with his thumb. “Do you want me to hold you down on my bed and take you?”

“Yes!” she cried.

“Yes, what?” he growled.

“Yes, professor, I need you to fuck me!” she wailed.

“Very good,” he said silkily. “Now go to my bedroom.” He released her throat and gave her bottom a light little smack to send her on her way. 

It was too much. His growling voice, his dominant posture, the tiny hint of a spank: it was too much for Nare. She fell to her knees in front of him and pleadingly scrabbled at his thighs. “Solas, please,” she sobbed. “Please, please, fuck me, _please_...”

He reached down and took her hand. “Nare—”

“Please!” she cried. “Solas, please, I need you…” She shuffled closer to him, her tear-filled eyes fixed on his cock — the hard rise of his cock that was rising from his unlaced linen pants. Fuck, she wanted him _so fucking badly,_ wanted him to fill her up the way his finger was doing just a moment ago, and oh gods, there was a drop of moisture trailing from the tip of his cock…

Without asking, without thinking, she took his cock in her hand and sucked the moisture from the tip. Solas groaned and flexed his hips toward her, and Nare eagerly followed his cue, taking his cock deeper into her mouth and savouring his rigid smoothness as it slid down her throat, yes, _yes_ \--

He suddenly pulled away and gripped her chin. “Did I say you could suck my cock?” he demanded. 

His voice was guttural but breathless with pleasure, and gods, the look on his face: he was so stern and forbidding, but his ears were turning pink with lust, and Nare thought she might die if he didn’t fuck her. “No,” she whined. 

“No, I didn’t,” he said. “I told you to go to my bedroom, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she sobbed.

He narrowed his eyes. “It seems that you need some discipline, then.”

“Yes, professor!” she blurted.

He nodded sharply, then released her chin. “Stand up. Turn around.”

She rose shakily to her feet, and Solas pulled her back toward his chest again, but this time his hand was on her breast, and he was actively rubbing his cock against her back.

She mewled and sobbed, wanting him to thrust inside of her and not against her back. “Please—”

His hand slid inside of her bra to pinch her nipple, and she yelped with pleasure and surprise. Solas nipped her neck, and then, to her delight, he spanked her — a sharp little spank on her butt.

She cried out and arched back toward his cock. When he spanked her again, she sobbed with desperation. “P-please,” she begged. 

He gently pushed her away. “Go to my bedroom now,” he said. “Take off your clothes and wait for me.”

She nodded, then stumbled out of the TV room and toward the hall at the other end of his apartment. She was vaguely aware of Fenor watching her knowingly from an armchair in the living room, but she couldn’t bring herself to care; her pussy was throbbing, her limbs weak with pleasure and lust, and she _needed_ to get naked in Solas’s bedroom as quickly as she could or she thought she might fall apart. 

She passed his studio and pushed open the door at the end of the hall. Sure enough, it was his bedroom, decorated and furnished in a similar dark and elegant style as the rest of the apartment, and on the wall across from his bed was an incredibly detailed mural. 

But Nare couldn’t stop to look at it now. Solas had told her to be naked when he got here, and she didn’t have much time.

She rolled down her socks and took off her bra, then sat back on her heels on his bed and rested her palms on her lap, trying to look as obedient and submissive as possible. But with every second that ticked by, her anticipation and her restless need rose higher. 

She twisted her fingers nervously. What was taking him so long? She was pretty sure she’d been waiting for almost thirty seconds. She shifted restlessly, overly aware of how wet she was and that she’d probably be making a mess of Solas’s duvet cover if he didn’t get in here soon.

Where _was_ he? Why was he taking so long? She shifted and exhaled shakily. Her skin felt too bare without his hands, and her body felt empty without his fingers inside of her, and this room was entirely too fucking quiet without his voice here to tell her what to do.

She restlessly shifted her legs together and considered touching herself until he got here, but he hadn’t told her she could do that, so she had better not risk it. But gods, she fucking _wanted_ him, and why wasn’t he here?

“Solas?” she called plaintively. 

A moment later, he came into the bedroom, and Nare’s heart stopped.

He was naked. Gloriously naked, pants discarded, his cock rising proud and tall as he padded toward her. But it wasn’t just his nudity that was making her heart race. It was his manner. It was the look on his face, a dark and knowing look like he knew exactly how desperate she was and had strung her out anyway. It was the way he walked toward her, slow and confident and cocky like he had all the time in the world and didn’t care that she’d been sitting here and practically melting as she waited for him to arrive. 

A dizzying rush of excitement raced through her blood. _This_ , she realized, was his hidden side. This was the rougher side, the side of him that she’d invited him to show her and that she’d seen hints of in his office. This was the side of him that liked to be called ‘professor’, but… fuck, this was so much more than that, darker and hotter and more carnal somehow, and Nare clocked all of this in the matter of the few seconds it took for him to join her beside the bed.

She gulped, her entire body vibrating with excitement. “I did what you told me,” she said shakily. “I waited for you.”

“Yes, you did,” he said. “Lie down on your back.”

Oh gods, his voice: even his voice sounded different — guttural and deep and utterly, bone-meltingly sexual, and Nare had no choice but to follow his command.

She lay down on his bed, and Solas crawled onto the bed, his movements smooth and distinctly predatory in a way that made Nare want to give herself to him completely. Eager and desperate, she parted her legs to welcome him—

He pushed her legs _together_ and straddled her hips, then crawled higher over her body and braced his palms on either side of her head. “Open your mouth,” he said roughly. “Open for me, Nare.”

Somehow, her excitement surged even higher. _Oh gods yes,_ she thought, and she instantly parted her lips. Then his cock was brushing over her lips, sliding into her mouth, deeper into her throat— 

She wrapped her fist around his cock and suckled him, and he groaned: a beautiful, perfect, guttural sound of pleasure that resonated through her blood to pulse between her legs. He rocked his hips toward her, and she eagerly took his cock, suckling him hungrily and angling her head so he could slide as far into her throat as she could handle. 

He gasped and grunted as he slid into her mouth, and with every slow thrust, Nare’s maddening desire grew higher. He was fucking her mouth, long slow thrusts of his perfect hard cock, but Nare wanted him to fill her body this way. She wanted the pleasure that his fingers had given her, the pleasure of being filled and soothed like she’d never truly been able to enjoy. She _knew_ that Solas could give this to her, but he was fucking her mouth instead, and she needed him so badly…

Without releasing his cock, she whimpered and writhed beneath him with increasing desperation. Then Solas suddenly pulled away. 

She gasped, surprised and dismayed by the abandonment. He was kneeling at the foot of the bed now and squeezing his cock, his teeth gritted with pleasure and frustration, and Nare knew exactly how he felt. 

“Please,” she burst out. “Please, please Solas, please fuck me, I’m ready!” 

He squeezed his shaft. “Say it again,” he commanded.

“I need you!” she wailed. “I need you to fuck me, please professor, _please!_ ” 

He exhaled sharply, then released his cock. “Roll over,” he said. “On your elbows and knees.”

A surge of anticipation poured through her limbs. She _loved_ being bent over for him, having him looming over her and telling her what to do. She rolled over and positioned herself as he’d said, vaguely aware that he had slid off the bed to get a condom from his bedside table. A moment later when he rejoined her on the bed, she felt a thread of her own desire dripping down her leg. 

Solas let out another growling breath. “Patience,” he breathed.

“I’m trying!” she whined. “I’m trying to be patient, I tried—”

“Not you,” he said. “I am talking to myself.” He slid up behind her and ran his hands over her hips. “Everything about you is a test of my patience.”

“Then don’t be patient,” she urged. “Just fuck me. I want you, Solas, I want you so much—” 

She broke off with a gasp. His cock was sliding slowly through her folds, spreading the slick moisture of her desire, and one of his hands was sliding up her back, over her shoulder blade, his fingers curling around her neck— 

He cradled her throat in his palm, and Nare sobbed, completely overwhelmed by the weight of her own wants. “Please!” she wailed. “Solas, please, I can’t wait anymore—”

She broke off with a gasp. Oh fuck, oh fuck, he was sliding inside of her slowly, stretching and filling her inch by inch, and… and it felt so fucking _good._

Her mouth fell open on a silent cry. She — his cock — fuck, it felt so good that she couldn’t even breathe. He was hitting nerves inside of her that she wasn’t aware she’d had, filling her up like no one had ever done before, so slowly, so carefully, _gods_ … 

“More,” she begged. “Please, more…”

Without releasing her throat, Solas slowly pulled out of her, leaving her empty and whimpering. He waited for a moment, before entering her again, making her completely desperate with anticipation, and when Solas’s cock finally filled her up again, she came. 

It took her completely by surprise. It felt like everything in her core was bearing down on him and pulsing, sending hot waves of pleasure through her body — pleasure like she had never felt before, deeper and stronger than any of the orgasms that even Solas had given her today. She couldn’t see anything, she couldn’t hear or speak or barely breathe; and by the time the strongest waves of rapture were starting to ebb, she was a sobbing mess of ecstasy on his bed. 

He released her throat and stroked her hair, drawing the damp strands away from her face. “Are you all right?” 

She sobbed and nodded. ‘All right’ was the understatement of the century. She felt so incredibly good that she wasn’t sure she could ever bear to leave this bed. 

“Come, Nare,” he said. “Rise up for me onto your hands.”

His voice was soft and tender again, and through her haze of pleasure, something equally tender pulsed within her chest. She shakily lifted herself onto her palms, and Solas curled himself over her body so his chest was flush to her back.

He stroked her jaw and kissed her ear. “I want you to kiss me,” he murmured. 

Her heart squeezed with a rush of affection, and she turned her head to meet him. He kissed her, his lips pulling eagerly at hers, and then his cock was sliding inside of her again—

She moaned, and Solas dipped his tongue into her mouth. And then they were fucking, his cock filling her in a smooth and perfect rhythm while he graced her lips with kisses, kisses that were messy with their erratic breathing and her moaning and his guttural grunts, but the kisses were perfect, so perfect — Nare had never been _kissed_ during sex before, had never been kissed like this before at all, and with Solas’s every careful thrust and heartfelt kiss and breathless pleasured groans, she felt more and more like her heart was swelling. 

Solas exhaled shakily, and she could feel why: his cock was getting harder, growing harder inside of her, and his thrusts were becoming more jerky. Excited by his impending climax, she kissed him more greedily, licking his tongue and nipping at his lower lip, and when he dragged in a tremulous and telling gasp, she whispered against his lips.

“Come inside of me, professor,” she invited.

He gasped and pressed his forehead to her shoulder, and Nare savoured his whole-body shudder as he groaned his pleasure into her skin. He felt so good and smelled so good and _sounded_ so fucking good as he came, and when the pumping of his hips slowed to a stop, he pressed his lips to her shoulder blade in a kiss. 

For a long moment, they remained pressed together in a perfect tableau of long-awaited pleasure. Then, slowly, Solas withdrew from her. 

Nare flopped onto her back and watched with a lazy kind of contentment as he tied off the condom and threw it away. When he returned to the bed, the tenderness in his smile made her heart flutter. 

He sat against the head of the bed and pulled her close. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” she said. “So good, seriously.” She let out a little laugh. “I’ve never had that kind of orgasm before. I’ve… I’ve never had sex that felt so good before.”

“I’m glad that you felt no pain,” he said gently.

She nodded. “I didn’t… I didn’t think it was possible to have sex anymore and not be in pain.” She broke off abruptly; a lump of emotion was swelling in her throat, and she took a deep breath to quell it before going on. “It just… means a lot to me.”

He stroked her hair. “I know, Nare. And I am truly pleased for you.”

She swallowed hard. “It’s not just that, though. It’s the… I feel so… close to you. Just… I’ve never really felt close to anyone I slept with before.” She dropped his gaze shyly and shrugged. “I… maybe this is how it usually feels for other people, I don’t know.”

“I can’t speak for others,” he said, “but I can tell you that I feel as you do about this.”

She looked at him hopefully. “You do?”

He smiled softly at her. “ _Ma’avin,_ ” he said.

She gazed at him with that heated swelling of affection in her chest. Unable to bear it anymore, she shifted higher on the bed and cradled his neck in her palm, then pressed her lips to his in a kiss. 

He parted his lips for her, and she savoured the warmth of his tongue and the faint musk of her own pleasure on his lips. Then she pulled away and gently patted his face. “This isn’t a one-time thing, right?” she asked anxiously. “I… please tell me this isn’t a one-time thing.”

His eyebrows creased slightly. “I never imagined this to be a one-time incident,” he said softly.

Relieved, she beamed at him and stroked his neck. She couldn’t imagine trusting anyone else the way she trusted Solas. She couldn’t imagine anyone else ever making her feel this good and this safe. In this moment, wrapped in Solas’s arms and laced with his sweat and his wonderful herbal scent, she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. 

She tilted her head, happiness making her mischievous. “So you imagined fucking me a lot, then?”

A broad smile broke through the softness in his face. “You truly are a vixen. What am I going to do with you?”

“Discipline me?” she said promptly.

He laughed — that soft rolling laugh that she adored — then rolled her onto her back and tucked her beneath his body. “I certainly will,” he said. “After we finish watching that film.”

She grinned and curled her arms around his neck. “You actually want to finish watching that film?”

“It’s a very good film,” he said. “You’ll find it insightful.”

“Not with you talking in my ear and distracting me,” she retorted.

He huffed. “Impertinent,” he said, and he dipped his head low and licked her nipple. 

She gasped and arched, desire flaring to life once more at the touch of his tongue. Solas suckled her nipple until she was panting, then abruptly rolled off of the bed and headed for the door. 

She gaped at him, dazed by his sudden departure. Then he paused at the door and cocked his head to the side. “Are you coming, Nare?” 

Despite her thrumming lust, she grinned at him. His tone and expression were mild and polite, but she saw the wolfish curl at the corners of his lips. 

“Yes, professor,” she said brightly, and she slid off of the bed to follow him. And for the rest of the day, Nare was a _very_ good student indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen phrases, thanks as always to FenxShiral:  
> \- _Ina’lan’ehn_ : beautiful.  
> \- _Mar’odhe ir’on_ : you smell delicious.
> 
> The movie that Solas and Nare “watched” in this chapter, _Portrait de la jeune fille en feu,_ is a real film, and it is very good! And actually very relevant for portrait artists. An interesting article about it is [here.](https://garage.vice.com/en_us/article/7x5nb4/the-artist-behind-the-portraits-at-the-heart-of-portrait-of-a-lady-on-fire)
> 
> Next chapter: one more Solas/Nare from Solas's POV, including more smuuut! Then we will return to the rest of the babes! 😂❤


	24. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO GLAD YOU ENJOYED THE FUCKFEST, YOU GUYS!! 😭❤😂🙏 I will reply to comments soon, but in the meantime: some sexting, some Professor Solas lecturing, and some smut!

###  SOLAS 

Solas was sipping his morning coffee and reading the news on his phone when a text appeared on his screen.

_Nare Sun Sept 27 08:22  
Good morning professor! 😊 What are you up to today?_

He smiled at the text. He could practically hear her wistfulness rising from the screen – not that he could blame her, as he was feeling equally wistful. Nare had finally left his apartment yesterday at just past four in the afternoon, stating that her absence for longer than that wouldn’t be believable to Athera and Tamaris, and Solas had very reluctantly let her go. He had known from the start that Nare wouldn't be able to stay late or overnight, but somehow he still hadn’t quite anticipated how solitary he would feel upon her departure.

They had already decided not to see each other today in order to not appear suspicious, but the logic of their decision didn’t make it an easy one to adhere to. When Solas went to bed last night, he could smell the citrusy scent of Nare’s hair on his pillows and see the evidence of their deeds on his sheets, and it was enough to make him long for her even though they’d only just been together mere hours before.

_Solas 08:22  
Good morning, Nare. I’m enjoying my morning coffee at the moment._

_Nare 08:22  
Your only coffee of the day, you mean!_

He smiled fondly. His coffee habits were one of the many idle things they’d chatted about yesterday while lounging half-naked around his apartment.

_Solas 08:22  
It still amuses me that you find this so incredible._

_Nare 08:22  
That you manage to survive on just one cup of coffee all day? That’s like a superpower!_

_Solas 08:22  
A necessity if you are as fond of deep and dream-filled sleep as I am._

_Nare 08:22  
I can tell you another way of getting a really good night’s sleep_

_Solas 08:23  
I’m all ears._

_Nare 08:23  
Getting a lot of exercise. For example, I slept REALLY well last night_

He grinned and rubbed his mouth. _Veraisa,_ he thought in amusement. Nare wasn’t the only one who could be suggestive, however. Ever since he’d decided to give in to his desire for her, he’d been feeling more attuned with the side of himself that Nare cheekily called his ‘wolfish’ side — that side of himself that had always lain dormant but restless in his chest, but that Nare literally begged him to let loose.

And his wolfish side _deeply_ enjoyed making suggestive remarks to Nare.

_Solas 08:23  
I’m pleased to have helped you to exercise._

_Nare 08:23  
How do you know I was talking about you? Maybe I went for a run yesterday when I got home!_

_Solas 08:24  
What an absurd suggestion. You could barely walk by the time you left._

A brief pause ensued, and Solas smirked. He had noticed that she tended to pause before replying when he sent her a text that she particularly enjoyed. When she finally replied, her response confirmed his suspicions.

_Nare 08:25  
I wish I could come over there_

_Nare 08:25  
I want to exercise with you some more…_ ❤

A pang of wistfulness pierced his amusement. He also wished that she was here, and not just for the sex, although the sex had vastly exceeded his dreams. Having Nare here in his home, making herself comfortable and filling his solitary space with her laughter and her warmth… her mere presence here had touched him more than he’d expected, and it was somewhat unnerving.

Fenor brushed against his ankle, pulling him from his thoughts. As soon as he looked down at her, she meowed loudly. 

He chuckled, then bent down and lifted her onto his lap. “You are a warming presence too,” he told her. “But I’m afraid it isn’t quite the same.”

Unfazed by his slight insult, Fenor butted her head against his chest before settling cozily onto his lap. When Solas looked at his phone again, it was to find another text from Nare.

_Nare 08:25  
When do you think we can see each other again? _

_Solas 08:25  
We’ll be seeing each other for our first one-on-one painting lesson tomorrow morning. I hope you hadn’t forgotten._

_Nare 08:26  
Of course not! But that’s not what I mean_

_Nare 08:26  
I want to see you for some more exercise 😉_

_Nare 08:26  
I’m being so greedy and bad I know_

He smiled helplessly at his screen, titillated by the reminder of how very greedy she was. Nare truly was a sexual force to be reckoned with. She’d responded to everything he did and said with a stunning degree of passion, and there was something nearly intoxicating about seeing her so desperate and wild for him. Truly, he could find himself in danger of getting addicted to how passionate she was and how much she wanted him — all the more reason for him to try and separate their professional and personal ties as much as possible.

All the more reason for him to _not_ say what he was about to say.

_Solas 08:26  
I was thinking that perhaps you could come here for our painting lesson tomorrow._

_Nare 08:26  
To your apartment? Really?_

_Solas 08:26  
Yes. I am fully equipped with everything you’ll need._

_Nare 08:26  
I would love to! But won’t it look a little suspicious if you don’t show up at the lab in the morning? _

_Solas 08:27  
I have been known to work from home sometimes. It’s not unheard of. _

_Solas 08:27  
I do have a meeting with Abelas and the dean at 14:30, so I will need to go in eventually. But no, a morning away won’t raise suspicions._

_Nare 08:27  
Okay if you’re sure! Same time then, 9am?_

_Nare 08:27  
Actually maybe we should make it 10:30am because then Athera will already be at work and Tam will be busy with a client by then so no one will wonder where I’m going_

His anticipation was dampened slightly by guilt. He felt bad that their encounters required so much pre-planning. If only Nare lived alone…

He shook his head at himself. How quickly his attitudes had changed. Less than a week ago, he’d been planning out the best way to refuse her. Now, he was rueing the fact that he couldn’t sleep with her as often or as easily as he liked. 

He sighed. _You are a fool,_ he told himself. Then he typed out another message to Nare.

_Solas 08:28  
10:30 is fine. But Nare, I should be clear: I truly do intend to teach you here at my studio. I am serious about that._

_Nare 08:28  
I know! And I really am looking forward to learning from you, I think it’ll really help me to watch your technique and to get some feedback from you in real-time_

_Nare 08:28  
I’m just hoping this means I’ll get a nice reward if I’m a very good student_

His shoulders relaxed. Of course he didn’t need to remind Nare of the importance of their professional ties. He should have known better.

He also should have known better than to reply to her suggestive text with an equally lascivious text of his own, but alas.

_Solas 08:28  
I might be inclined to reward you if you follow my instructions well._

_Nare 08:28  
I’ll be very good for you, I promise!_

_Nare 08:28  
And I’ll make sure I actually wear appropriate clothes for painting tomorrow 😂 I’m lucky the girls didn’t catch me leaving or coming home in the clothes I wore yesterday!_

The heat in his belly stirred restlessly at the mention of her clothes from yesterday. That potent combination of her thigh-high socks and her skirt, and the matching lacy bra and panties she’d worn underneath…

Goaded by his wolfish side, he typed out a reply.

_Solas 08:29  
Appropriate clothing would be wise. I might suggest similar underclothes as the ones you wore yesterday._

_Nare 08:29  
Did you like my pretty underwear, professor?_

_Professor._ A hum of warmth flickered low in his belly. Seeing Nare text the word, hearing it fall pleadingly from her lips… He couldn’t explain how it had such a visceral impact on him, but it did.

_Solas 08:29  
I liked it very much. But I will admit that I what I enjoyed most was unwrapping you from that pretty underwear. _

_Nare 08:29  
I need to get some more pretty underwear then! I only have three sets! 😂❤_

_Solas 08:29  
There is no need to go to special effort, Nare. I will be equally drawn to you no matter what you wear._

_Nare 08:29  
I like the idea of being a gift for you to unwrap. It makes me really wet…_

His cock stirred, and Fenor shifted on his lap. Feeling slightly self-conscious, he lifted the cat from his lap onto the chair beside him before slowly tapping out a response.

_Solas 08:30  
I remember well. In fact, I’ve been quite preoccupied by the memories of you dripping wet for me._

_Nare 08:30  
Really?_

_Solas 08:30  
Yes, Nare. I am very fond of the thought of you showing yourself off for me. Showing me how very wet you are._

_Nare 08:30  
Please professor tell me more_

A wave of desire rolled hotly through his body, washing away any hints of trepidation he had. Quickly, confidently, he typed out his carnal thoughts.

_Solas 08:31  
I am consumed by the thought of you bending over my couch. Such an obedient student, waiting for me to lick you up._

_Solas 08:31  
Waiting for me to press my fingers inside of you, and to feel how hot and tight you are. _

_Solas 08:32  
I am particularly fond of having you beg for me. Having you on your elbows and knees with your ass in my hands, staring at how wet and ready you are. Waiting for you to beg your professor to fuck you._

He sent the texts, and with an ache of anticipation between his legs, he waited for her response.

_Nare 08:34  
[Untitled.m4a]_

An electric spill of anticipation thrummed in his gut. Eagerly, he tapped the voice memo and lifted his phone to his ear.

Her soft and breathy moan filled his ear — moans punctuated by fitful gasps, sounds that Solas had become viscerally familiar with over the past week. By the time the beautiful sounds of her climax had calmed, his cock was pounding.

Nare’s voice memo continued. “I love being on my knees for you, professor,” she murmured. “It makes me so fucking wet.” She inhaled, then let out a lovely moaning-sighing sound. “I love when you’re bossy with me and you tell me what to do. I want you to hold me down and fuck me hard.”

Unable to bear it any longer, Solas paused the voice memo and stood up, then swiftly made his way to the bedroom. He roughly pulled off his t-shirt and laid it on the bed, then pulled his cock out of his sweatpants. 

He placed his phone on the bed, then planted one hand and one knee on the bed as well. Imagine if Nare was flat on her belly beneath him, her spine arched to take him deep… The image was far too easy to conjure. Tense with need now, Solas tapped the voice memo on his phone, then began to stroke himself. 

Nare’s pleasured voice floated through the speakerphone. “I want you so much,” she breathed. “I want you to take me hard, however you want me. I want you to make me feel so fucking good with your cock inside of me.”

He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, his hand moving jerkily along his length as he matched Nare’s words to his imagination: her pliant body beneath him, bucking back to meet him as he held her down with one hand twined in her long red hair… 

He came suddenly, his climax spurred by the all-too-vivid thoughts of Nare submitting to the hard rhythm of his cock — thoughts made even more vivid by his perfect memories from yesterday. He groaned and shuddered, stroking out his pleasure as it spurted onto the t-shirt he’d laid on the bed, and when the tide of his pleasure receded enough that he could think once more, he sat heavily on the bed and picked up his phone.

_Nare 08:36  
Did you get my voice memo?_

_Solas 08:40  
Forgive me. I meant to record myself in return, but I got too impatient._

_Nare 08:40  
Bad professor! I was hoping for a reward for being so good 😔_

He smiled faintly as he replied.

_Solas 08:40  
I was a very bad professor. I apologize. I will make up for it later. _

_Nare 08:40  
Promise?_

_Solas 08:41  
I promise. In the meantime, I hope you have a pleasant day._

_Nare 08:41  
I already am! xo_

He smiled at her now-familiar ‘xo’, then set his phone aside and glanced ruefully at his semen-spattered shirt. Then, with a sigh, he set about to tidying himself up.

As he rinsed the shirt out in his bathroom sink, he thought about Nare: her carnal wishes for him to command her and take her hard, and the way she’d unravelled so thoroughly when he entered her for the first time. They’d had sex once more before Nare went home, preceded by a lengthy and breathtaking bout of foreplay, and Nare hadn’t mentioned any pain during the rest of the day, nor had she shown any signs of pain or discomfort that Solas could see. 

He was thrilled that he was able to give her so much pleasure, but also curious about how much she’d enjoyed their sex, considering that her sexual history was complicated by pain. Not that he doubted her pain, not for a second. If anything, he was fascinated by the fact that she’d had no pain with him. 

He wasn’t nearly so cocky as to think he could take credit for fixing such a long-standing problem, however. In truth, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. He didn’t have enough knowledge of the problem to have any useful thoughts about it. He could see how deeply the pain had affected Nare’s sense of self, however, and it made his heart ache to imagine her hiding something so difficult and so deeply personal from anyone she’d been intimate with in the past. Truthfully, it was sheer good fortune that Solas had been able to draw an analogy between Nare’s pain and her own attitude toward art — an analogy that had helped him to connect an unfamiliar struggle to one that he was considerably more familiar with. And it was extremely fortunate that the analogy had resonated so well with Nare. 

The more Solas thought about it, the more he began to wonder if their professor-student dynamic actually played a key role in Nare’s lack of pain. Not their actual supervisory relationship — no, Solas was trying not to think about that — but the professor-student sexual roles they had both fallen into so easily and so hungrily. Not only had this been the catalyst for helping Nare to see sex and pleasure in a different light, but there was something about the… the control he had over her. There was something about the control that made Nare especially excited, and from what Solas had (very eagerly) observed, Nare’s excitement allowed her to forget about her pain while they were in the throes of things. 

He hung his damp shirt in the bathroom to dry, then returned to the kitchen to drink his abandoned coffee. As he sipped from his mug, he continued to ponder the connection between Nare’s pain and her preference for him to be in control. 

Honestly, Solas knew next to nothing about the experience of pain during sex. But Nare had told him that she’d tried a multitude of methods to stop the pain, to no avail. Imagine trying so hard to fix a problem, but being unable to fix it as quickly or easily as you wanted, or to fix it at all?

Well, _that_ was something he had experience with. The political struggles in Arlathan, working for years to bring his country’s history of slavery to light, having to convince Mythal that this was a national priority despite her political preoccupations, feeling sometimes like he was taking one step forward and two steps back — even the feeling at times like he was working alone despite knowing that he wasn’t… 

He sighed. He certainly knew what it was like to struggle for years against a seemingly unfixable problem: to feel like no matter how hard you tried, you had no control over the situation.

He paused with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Perhaps that was it: the lack of control that Nare had over her own pain. If she felt a lack of control, but was able to entrust that control to Solas instead, with his supposed understanding of the connection between art and pleasure? 

He sat there for a moment, stunned by his sudden understanding. Or at least, he thought he understood. He didn’t dare to presume to understand Nare’s own mind and body better than she did, but it certainly made sense. The freedom of handing control over to someone else during sex — someone that she felt close to, that she trusted… 

His heart squeezed in his chest. Now he felt even more protective of her than he already did — and, in a way, perversely glad that he had given in to this forbidden but extremely important liaison. He was Nare’s teacher and guide in her artistic career, and if she needed him to be her teacher in this more carnal realm as well, he was more than happy to avail himself to her.

Not to say that his motives were entirely altruistic — of course they weren’t. He was most certainly benefitting from their liaison as well. The way Nare bent to his will both literally and emotionally, following his commands and letting him mold her exquisite body in whatever way he liked? Having this stunning, brilliant woman give herself to him, letting him close enough to treat her this way? It was… it was intimate in a way he hadn’t ever experienced. Somehow, by letting him have power over her, Nare made him feel more deeply on par with her than he’d ever felt with any other partner. 

_Ma’av’in,_ he thought, with another nearly-painful pang of fondness. It was foolish and overly sentimental of him to say this phrase to her, but truly, as he sat here shirtless at his kitchen table wishing she was here, he truly felt as though he had found a counterpart to his spirit in Nare.

Unfortunate, then, that the stark reality of their circumstances prevented them from fully enjoying their nascent bond.

Feeling a little melancholy now, he sighed and continued to drink his now-cold coffee. When his coffee was done, he went to his studio to draw for a while.

He carefully lifted the protective sheet off of his drawing table, then got out his pencils and erasers and his scalpel, and he set to work on the drawing of the hands — the wistful paired hands that he had first sketched a couple of weeks ago, and which he’d been refining into a completed piece whenever he had the time. He put on some soft instrumental music, then sat in his stool and began his usual routine of carefully sharpening his pencil. Once he was ready, he paused and studied the drawing for a moment. 

The man’s hand was complete, so Solas’s gaze lingered mainly on the half-finished woman’s hand. He studied the hint of tension in her reaching fingers, the vulnerability of her exposed wrist, the softness of her palm: all these emotions that he was striving to capture, these elements of desire and longing and want. But as Solas studied her hand, her pleading reach, the benevolent and eager response of the man’s fingers over hers, he realized what he’d really been drawing all this time. 

It wasn’t just lust and longing that he’d been imagining all this time; it was so much more than that. It was trust. 

He studied the drawing for a moment longer. Then, with a little smile, he began to draw.

************************************

The next morning, as Solas was waiting for Nare to arrive, he was needled by a faint feeling of guilt for asking her to come here. If he truly had her academic interests at heart, he would have met her at the university’s graduate studio as they had originally planned, but he’d been bowled over by his own selfishness.

When Nare arrived at his apartment, however, she was so obviously ready to work that she wiped away his worries. Her hair was tied in a practical ponytail, and she was dressed in very appropriate clothes for painting: comfortable harem-style yoga pants and a paint-stained button-up shirt tied at the waist. 

She stepped into his apartment with a smile. “We’re going to be matching today.”

“How so?” he said. 

“I’m going to be barefoot too,” she said. “I work better with no shoes on.”

He huffed in amusement as she took off her coat and shoes. “I suppose it’s for the best that we didn’t go to work in the studio at the school, then.”

“Definitely for the best,” Nare agreed. 

Her smile was mischievous and warm. Solas rubbed his mouth to hide his own smile, then gestured for her to go to his studio. “Go on and get settled. I’ve set up an easel and canvas for each of us. Can I bring you something to drink?”

“How about some tea?” she said cheekily.

An eager flicker of warmth stirred in his belly. He forced himself to ignore it and gave her a chiding look. “Nare…”

She laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t help it. Okay, I promise to be good until we get some work done.”

“I will believe it when I see it,” he said dryly. “I’ll bring us some water.”

She flashed him a grin before heading down the hall to his studio, and he fondly watched her jauntily swinging hair before going to the kitchen. When he joined her in the studio, it was to find her curiously inspecting his painting tools and the quick portrait sketch he had started yesterday in preparation for this lesson.

He placed their glasses of water on the supply table. “Is my setup satisfactory?”

She looked up with a smile. “You use environmentally-friendly solvent.”

“Of course,” he said. “In a day and age when such alternatives are readily available, there’s no reason to use toxic equivalents for the sake of tradition.”

“I totally agree.” She beamed at him, then sat on the stool in front of the second easel. “Okay, what are you going to show me today?”

“We had been talking about blending recently, so I thought I could demonstrate the way I do it,” he said. “Which, as you know, is not the only way of working with oils.”

She nodded attentively, and Solas picked up a larger hog bristle brush. “I’ll start with a quick cover of colour to begin.” He dipped his brush in the already-prepared colours on his glass palette and set to work. “I prefer a methodical approach, as you know; there are some artists who like to shift between different parts of their scene, but I prefer to build my layers gradually with a focus on the scene as a whole.” 

He watched her from the corner of his eye as she spoke. Her expression was a picture of focus, her eyes following the movements of his hand as he shifted smoothly from canvas to palette and back to the canvas again.

He smiled faintly at how attentive she was — truly, no innuendo intended, she was a very good student — then continued to narrate his movements. “Notice that I am frequently returning to the palate to lift more paint. For artists who are transitioning from watercolours to oils, it is a common mistake to be too sparing with the paint. Remember that part of the appeal of painting with oils is to lean into the richness and texture of the paint.”

She smiled wryly. “A common mistake, huh?”

He returned her smile as he wiped his brush on an old towel. “Am I being presumptuous?” 

She laughed. “No, you’re right. I have a habit of stretching the paint.” 

“I suspected as much,” he said. “It was hard to be certain from the photos of your studies, but now that you’ve confirmed it, I can tell you that part of the reason your studies end up being muddy is that you are being stingy with your paint. Don’t be afraid to use more.”

She hummed an acknowledgement and leaned forward a bit, and Solas paused. “You can move your stool closer if you like,” he said.

She shot him a tiny smile. “I can’t.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why not?”

“I promised I would be good,” she said.

Her expression was slightly coy, and it lifted an immediate flicker of desire in his belly. He huffed, both at his own irrepressible libido and at her, but before he could reply, she let out a giddy little laugh. “Don’t reply to that,” she said. “Don’t listen to me. Let’s just — keep going with the lesson, professor.”

 _Professor._ He shot her an exasperated look. “You can’t call me that, then.”

She laughed again, and Solas noted with pleasure that the tips of her ears were turning a telltale pink. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m paying attention, I promise.”

He gazed fondly at her for a moment, then shook his head in amusement and returned to his painting. “I’ll continue to add colours now, always keeping in mind the contrast. Contrasting the base layer of skin with the background, the shadows and highlights to the base… and notice that I am not blending anything yet.”

“Mm,” she agreed. “I think that’s where I have trouble. I’m used to blending right away before things dry.”

He shot her a little smile. “Another area where your watercolour skills can’t be transferred. One of the great joys of oil painting is the fact that it can take more than a full day to dry, giving you plenty of time to lay down your values and shapes before you blend.”

Nare huffed a little laugh. “I don’t like waiting for a whole day. It takes so long.”

“Impatient, are you?” he remarked — rather foolishly.

Her face lit up with a heated grin. “Yes. Very.”

He helplessly returned her smile, then forced his gaze back to his painting. “Fortunately for you, there are methods of producing stunning oil paintings quite quickly — an _alla prima_ approach, in essence. But that’s not what I’m showing you right now.”

She hummed an acknowledgement. As Solas continued to paint, his mind eventually sank into the familiar and pleasant sort of half-focused, half-mindless state that he adopted when he was focused on his art. 

When he was finally satisfied with the overall values on his canvas, he lowered his brush and glanced at Nare. Her face was completely serious now, her eyes carefully scanning the blotchy portrait, and Solas waited for her to finish inspecting his work. 

When she finally looked up at him, he tilted his head. “What do you see so far?”

“A lot of paint,” she said with a smile. “And visible brushstrokes.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look like your work yet.”

“That’s correct,” Solas said. “And that is another excellent point: the method and use of blending is one of the major factors that defines an artist’s distinct style.” He wiped off his brush and selected a smaller one as he went on. “I blend very carefully to achieve a very soft, very smooth effect, but many oil painters do not go to this much trouble — largely, I believe, out of a fear that they will end up overblending and thereby lose the vibrancy of their colours. But this fear is born of a lack of practice.”

“That makes sense, what you mean about the style,” she said. “Especially with the smooth effect of your oil paintings. They have such a dreamlike quality to them. I wish I could paint like that.”

“You shouldn’t wish for that,” he said seriously. 

Her eyes darted from the canvas to his face. “Why?”

“Because you are unique,” he said. “Your art is unique, and you should be proud of it.”

She ducked her head shyly, and Solas felt a protective sort of pang at her self-consciousness. Against his better judgment, he stepped closer to her and gently lifted her chin.

Her cerulean eyes were wide, and Solas gazed seriously into them as he spoke. “You can deeply admire other artists and learn from them,” he said quietly. “But never make the mistake of thinking you should paint exactly as they do.” 

She swallowed hard and nodded, and Solas stepped back and gave her an appraising look. “Truthfully, I suspect that your style in oils may end up being the opposite of mine.” 

She nervously licked her lips. “U-um, why’s that?” 

“Because you are impatient,” he said slyly.

A beautiful smile stretched across her face, and she laughed. Solas chuckled as well before going on more seriously. “Many of your portraits are dynamic, like snapshots of candid emotion captured in the blink of an eye. In contrast, a very smoothly blended style such as mine tends to convey a certain tranquility. Your artistic goals may be better captured with a more expressive and dynamic style that, fortunately for you, takes considerably less time.” He tilted his head playfully. “But again, that is not what I’m showing you today.”

She took a deep breath and let it out, then nodded pertly. “Okay. I’m ready to see how you do it.”

Solas spent the next twenty minutes showing Nare how he blended the oils with his own particular method: primarily using a dry brush with very light brushstrokes, being careful not to dig into the canvas, keeping the mentality of pushing and pulling the paint rather than trying to fade the colours into each other, but also adding more paint rather than purely blending when he felt that he was at risk of losing vibrancy. 

Nare eventually slid off of her stool to stand closer to him while he worked, and Solas did his very best to focus on his work and not be distracted by her closeness or the intoxicating citrus scent of her hair. By the time he had finished blending and smoothing half of the portrait’s face, however, there was a distinctly hungrily restlessness thrumming through his blood. 

He set his brush down and stepped away from his canvas — and, incidentally, away from her. He gestured at the painting. “The effect of blending in an oil painting,” he announced.

She nodded, and Solas eyed her covetously. Her expression was serious and her gaze was on his art, but he wasn’t fooled: he was very familiar now with the signs of Nare’s poorly-hidden arousal, the arching of her spine and the pinkness of her ears, and to Solas’s eager eye, her body was broadcasting her desire.

 _Take her,_ his wolfish voice said. After all, that was why they were doing this lesson here in his apartment rather than at the school, was it not? So they could ravish each other after the lesson was done?

But the lesson wasn’t done yet, not by far. Nare needed to show him what she’d learned. Besides, if he made her wait, if he heightened her anticipation a little further… 

A delicious memory rose to the front of his mind: Nare arching beneath him and sobbing for him to fuck her. He took a deep breath to quell his lust, then clasped his hands behind his back. “I want you to practice this technique with a simple study: a value sphere, with a special focus on achieving a smooth blended effect.”

She exhaled slowly, then tilted her head. “A sphere study? That’s for beginners.”

His heart flipped at her combative remark. “Are you talking back to me?” he asked.

She lifted her chin. “I’m just asking why I have to do a sphere study when I can do more complex things already.”

There was a distinctly mischievous quirk to her eyebrows, and Solas’s cock pulsed restlessly in his pants. He leaned away from her slightly. “You could do a portrait study instead,” he said calmly. “But it will take considerably longer. And we have limited time until I must go in to the office.” He raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you want? To spend a long time working on a portrait?”

“No,” she said.

“No?” he said archly.

“No, professor,” she said. 

He studied her with a restless sort of excitement. Her words were correct, but her tone was cheeky still. 

_Provocative,_ he thought with a dark sort of amusement. He cocked his head as though in thought and took a step away from her. “On second thought, you have a point. Your skills are more advanced than a beginner. Perhaps I should have you do a portrait instead, and when you’re finished, you could go home.”

“No, please,” she blurted.

He raised his eyebrows, and she gave him a pleading look. A tense moment later, he nodded once. “All right. You will do the sphere study without complaint, then?” 

“Yes,” she said instantly. 

Solas studied her for another moment. Then, slowly, he sidled up to her — very close to her, until their bodies were nearly touching. 

Very slowly, he leaned in close to her ear. “Yes, what?” he murmured.

Her lips parted on a shaky inhale. “Yes, professor.”

“Good,” he said. Then he wrapped his fingers around her throat in a gentle grip.

She gasped and grabbed his wrist, her spine straightening as though to press her throat more firmly into his palm. Solas gently squeezed her throat, then turned her head to the side and pressed his lips to the side of her neck. 

She mewled softly with pleasure. Then Solas lightly bit the side of her neck.

She gasped again, more sharply this time, and Solas pressed his lips to her ear once more. “Do not talk back to me again,” he said, very quietly.

She whimpered and nodded, and Solas released her throat and stepped away from her before clasping his hands behind his back once more. “All right. Now get started.”

She exhaled shakily, then shot him a grin before turning to her canvas and picking up the sketching chalk to make a quick outline of a sphere. He watched as she prepared her shades of grey on a clean section of his glass palette, watching as she selected a small sable brush to fill in the sphere, and just as she was about to dip her brush into the prepared paint, he spoke in a calm and measured tone. 

“Remember to be generous with your paint,” he reminded her. “More paint means a more vibrant hue. If you were working with hues, that is.”

“Okay,” she said breathlessly, and she started to block out her values. 

He stood just behind her as she worked, close enough to feel her warmth through the soft worn fabric of her shirt — close enough that his every inhale was scented with the fragrance of her hair. By the time the entire sphere was filled in with a gradient of whites and greys, his pulse was thrumming through his body and in his cock, and it was taking every bit of his self-control to _not_ lean in and brush himself against the curves of her ass. 

She lowered her brush and turned her head to glance at him. “I… I think I’m ready to start, um, blending now.”

“I agree,” he murmured. “How will you do that?”

“I’ll use a… a dry brush,” she said. “And I’ll just do, um… gentle strokes. Pushing and pulling the paint.”

“Precisely,” he said. Then he reached up and trailed his fingers over the exposed nape of her neck. 

Her ribs rose with a shaky breath. She craned her neck to the side as though to invite his mouth, and Solas was unable to resist the invitation.

He dipped his head low and pressed a kiss to her neck. She moaned and shifted restlessly, and Solas gently nipped her neck, inhaling the warm scent of her skin as he licked the faint hint of salt from her fragrant skin. 

Then he forced himself to step away from her.

She turned to look at him, her face flushed with longing. “Where are you going?”

“I am giving you room to focus,” he said. 

She shot him a pleading look. “Seriously?” 

He gazed fondly at her and traced his knuckle along the line of her jaw. “I genuinely wish for you to have a moment to work in peace,” he told her. “Come find me in the living room when you’re finished.”

She sighed but nodded, and Solas swiftly left the studio before he could change his mind. He took himself to his desk in the living room so he could work — or try to work — while he waited for Nare to finish her study. 

When she emerged from his study some ten-odd minutes later, he counted it as a success that he’d managed to mindlessly answer some emails from students. He looked up as she approached him. “Are you finished the sphere?” 

“Yes, it’s done,” she said. “Can you come and look at it for me?”

“Of course,” he said. He eyed her for a moment, then pushed his chair back from the desk and patted his thigh. “Sit here.”

Her face lit up with anticipation, and she quickly settled herself on his lap. He curled his arm around her waist and idly traced his thumb over her hip. “You were mouthy with me before,” he said conversationally. 

“I’m sorry, professor,” she said humbly.

“Are you?” he asked.

“Yes, I am.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Apologies notwithstanding, I’m inclined to discipline you for your rudeness.”

Nare swallowed hard and shifted slightly on his lap. “What kind of discipline?”

Another treasured memory rose to his mind: the sharp sting of his palm on the perfect rounded curve of her bottom. 

An impatient flare of heat burst to life in his gut, but he ruthlessly ignored it. “It is better to show you than to tell you,” he said, and he patted her hip encouragingly. “Go to my studio and get your brushes, and bring them to the kitchen sink. You’re going to clean them.”

She pouted as she stood up. “Do I have to?”

He raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his chair. “You’re daring to talk back to me again?”

She eyed him boldly, and another flicker of heated amusement pulsed through his veins. 

He gazed stonily at her to hide his amusement. “Go get the brushes right now, Nare,” he said sternly.

Her eyes widened with excitement. She nodded and hurried off, and Solas quickly squeezed his cock through his pants to soothe himself before heading to the kitchen. 

When Nare arrived in the kitchen a moment later with a handful of used brushes and the jar of paint solvent, she beamed at him, and despite his eager lust, his heart did a joyful little flip. She looked so happy: happy to be here in his space and happy to be following his commands, and he was happy too. It was wrong and foolish and they both knew it, but with Nare barefoot and paint-spattered and comfortable in his home, it was impossible to deny: Solas was unequivocally, breathtakingly happy that she was here. 

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her waist, and she let out a little laugh. “Wait, wait, I’m holding all of these brushes and things!” 

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, and he kissed her. 

She melted into his arms and tilted her head in an unspoken plea, and Solas obligingly deepened the kiss, savouring the soft pliancy of her lips and the glorious slide of her tongue twining sinuously with his. She pressed herself against his front and tilted her hips toward him, and Solas groaned softly into her mouth as the motion of her body brought the ridge of his cock against her belly. She curled her hips toward him and hungrily licked his tongue, almost like she was making up for the fact that her hands were full of paint supplies by using the rest of her body to feel him, and Solas gladly gave himself over to the seduction of her body by sliding his hands leisurely from her waist down to her ass.

He molded his palms over her curves, pressing his cock against her belly as he savoured the twin globes of her bottom in his hands, and when Nare broke their kiss to gasp for breath, he brushed his lips over her ear. 

“I have been wanting to do this since the moment you walked through the door,” he murmured.

She smiled cheekily. “To do what? Grab my butt?”

He huffed. “That as well, but no.” He leaned away slightly and cradled her neck in his palm. “I have been craving the feeling of your lips against mine.” 

Her expression melted into a heart-pounding softness. “Me too,” she breathed. “I’ve been wanting this since I left your apartment yesterday.”

“So have I,” he replied, somewhat ruefully. He had a sneaking and unfortunate suspicion that it was only going to be more difficult for him and Nare to behave themselves in his office now that they both knew what it was like to strip each other bare. 

But that was a concern for another time. For now, Nare was curling her hips against him and her lips were a perfectly enticing dusky pink, and Solas needed to take advantage of her nearness while he had the chance.

He kissed her again, a slow and gentle kiss with just a mere hint of tongue, then reluctantly peeled his lips away from hers. “You had better get started with cleaning those brushes,” he whispered, and he released her. 

She grinned and turned to the kitchen sink, and Solas folded his arms and leaned against the counter to watch her as she cleaned the brushes. She rinsed a brush carefully in the solvent, using paper towel to wipe off the excess paint before repeating the process, and when she picked up the second brush, he sidled up behind her. 

He gently stroked the tender nape of her neck. “You’re doing an excellent job,” he said.

“I am?” she said breathlessly as she wiped the second brush.

“Yes, you are,” he said quietly. “Maintaining your brushes is an essential part of an artist’s routine. You are doing a very good job. Keep up the good work.”

“Okay,” she said, and she dipped the brush in the solvent again. 

As she rinsed and wiped the brush, Solas trailed his palm from her nape down along the center of her back to the silver of skin that was bared by her waist-tied shirt and her yoga pants. He brushed his knuckles over the warm bare skin, then reached around her front and began undoing the buttons of her shirt with one hand. 

Nare paused in her cleaning, and Solas stopped his unbuttoning to speak softly into her ear. “Keep going, Nare. You need to clean all of these brushes.” 

She exhaled shakily and continued to clean the brush in her hand, and Solas slowly undid each button of her shirt until it was open down to the knot above her navel. Then, with reverent care, he slipped the tips of his fingers into the cup of her bra — just into the very edge of the cup so he was barely grazing the edge of her nipple.

A tiny moan escaped her lips, but to Solas’s satisfaction, she kept cleaning the brush. When the brush was free of paint, she picked up the next one and dipped it in the solvent.

“Very good,” he murmured, and he stroked her nipple with the tips of his fingers. 

She let out a pleading little noise but continued to clean the brush, and Solas continued to reward her, playing his fingertips over her nipple until it was a hardened peak. When she moved onto the final brush, he pulled his fingers out of her bra.

She whimpered and shifted restlessly. “Please…”

“Continue your task, Nare,” he instructed her. He curled his fingers into the waistband of her pants and slowly began easing them down. 

She gasped and bent forward a bit, and Solas’s greedy gaze dropped to the small of her back. The dip of her spine was exaggerated by the arching of her spine, and as he slowly pulled her pants down, the pulsing of his cock grew more insistent.

Underneath her comfortable pants, she was wearing silk and lace again, just as he’d shamelessly asked. He stared gormlessly at her bottom, the delicate smoothness of her skin contrasted saucily with the patterns of the lace, and by the time he had her pants pulled down to just below her bottom, her erratic breathing sounded as desperate as he felt. 

He gazed longingly at her ass for another blissful second, then glanced up at her face. “Are you finished with those brushes yet?”

She shook her head. “Not yet,” she whimpered, and she went back to wiping the final brush.

“You need to finish cleaning them, Nare,” he told her. “It is a careless artist who allows her brushes to be damaged.” He cupped her partly-bared buttock in one palm, and with his other hand, he reached between her legs.

He stroked her through her panties, and his cock pulsed eagerly: her desire already soaked through the silk. 

She gasped and jerked back toward his hand, and he breathed carefully through his lips to control his lust. _Fenedhis_ , he wanted her: he wanted to peel these panties off and feel this silken moisture coating his cock as he fucked her hard. But he couldn’t do that, not until she was begging. 

He slowly caressed her between her legs, savouring the roundness of her buttock in his other hand, and Nare spread her legs — or as much as she could, considering the constraints of her pants just below her bottom. She was panting and whimpering now, and Solas stared hungrily at her ass while she washed the brushes with dish soap and water. 

Finally, at long last, she placed the last clean brush on a paper towel and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’m finished,” she whimpered. “I’m done. Can you—”

“Don’t speak,” he said.

She pressed her lips together, and Solas spoke softly to her while he petted her pussy through the silk. “You cleaned those brushes very well,” he said. “I would like to reward you for that.”

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes please, profess—”

He suddenly squeezed her buttock. She whimpered and clamped her lips shut once more, and Solas relaxed his grip and tenderly smoothed his palm over her bottom. “As I was saying,” he said mildly, “I would like to reward you, but I can’t. Not until I’ve disciplined you first.”

She whimpered and nodded but didn’t speak, and Solas smiled faintly at her obedience. Then he stepped away from her. “Remove your pants. Slowly.”

“Yes, professor,” she said breathlessly. She took a small step away from the sink and slipped her thumbs into her half-down pants, then began pushing them down, bending over slowly and arching her spine as she did, and Solas stared longingly at her ass. She was showing off for him, blatantly displaying herself exactly as he’d hoped she would, and by the time she was kicking her pants away, his cock was positively throbbing with need. 

She glanced coyly at him over her shoulder. “What should I do now?”

He dragged in a breath. _Patience,_ he coached himself. “Place your hands on the counter and bend forward,” he said. 

She instantly did as she was told, and Solas stepped up behind her once more and smoothed his palm over the silken curves of her bottom. “I am going to spank you now, Nare,” he said, and he gently patted her bottom. “Right here.” 

She gasped and nodded, and Solas went on. “There are only two words you are allowed to say,” he informed her. “‘Stop’ or ‘please’.” He gave her a serious look. “If you say ‘stop’, that is precisely what I’ll do.”

She nodded again. “What if I say ‘please’?”

He huffed. “That will depend on how well you say it. If you are very good and you follow my instructions well, I might reward you.”

She nodded once more, and Solas smiled. “Good,” he said. And with no further warning, he graced her left buttock with a light smack.

She gasped and clenched her fingers on the counter, and Solas’s cock pulsed; already she was moving her hips, bucking slightly toward him as though to beg for more without actually asking, and he was more than eager to give her what she wanted. 

He spanked her again, a bit harder this time, and a moan burst from her lips. She didn’t speak, however, and Solas could feel his own heated anticipation rising as he gently stroked her tender skin. 

Then he struck her again.

“Please!” she blurted.

He exhaled hard. That word, that precious word and the way it left her lips so easily for him… 

A rush of warmth flooded his chest. He tenderly smoothed his palm over her slightly-pinkened skin, then spanked her neglected right buttock.

She sobbed and arched her spine. “Please, please!”

He dragged in a careful breath. “Not yet, Nare,” he said. “You were exceedingly mouthy before.”

She wiggled her hips. “But—”

He reached up and wound her hair in his fist, and she gasped. Slowly, gently, he pulled on her hair, and by the time her spine was bowed, she was mewling with need. 

He leaned toward her and brushed his lips over her ear. “I said two words, Nare: ‘stop’ or ‘please’. No others.”

She let out a whimpery little breath and nodded. When Solas spanked her again, she cried out. “Please! Please, please…”

He pulled her hair and kissed her temple and spanked her again. By the time he had struck her three more times, she was clawing at the kitchen counter and sobbing.

“Please! Please please, I—” She clamped her lips shut and thrust her hips toward him, and Solas stared at her with naked admiration. She was so pliant for him, so shameless in her begging words and the begging of her body, and as he studied her half-naked body with his hand twined her in her hair and her skin turning pink from the impact of his palm, he was struck once more by the same revelation that had come over him yesterday. 

This was trust. This was what trust looked like. Nare’s pliant and passive pose, her gasping breaths and the vulnerability of her half-naked body under his hands: this was trust, the surest sign of her trust in him, and it was both a treasure and a curse. 

With a bittersweet pang, he kissed the tip of her ear. “Remove your panties now,” he murmured. “Slowly, Nare.”

She nodded eagerly. When Solas stepped back, Nare shoved her panties down in one swift motion. 

Solas grabbed her arm. “I said _slowly_.” 

“I’m sorry!” she blurted. “I’m sorry, I didn’t — I didn’t mean to disobey, I — Solas, I need—”

He spanked her again, and she sobbed and arched her spine. “Please!” she begged. “Please, professor, please, I need you to fuck me! I need you, please…” She trailed off with another sob, and Solas had to resist the bone-deep urge to carry her off to his bedroom right this second. 

“Hands on the counter. Now,” he said sternly. His voice was rough with lust, thick and husky with impatience, and Nare clearly heard it too; she sobbed again as she placed her hands on the counter, and Solas stared at her bottom with rising desperation.

She was a mess of slippery desire. Her slickness was smeared along the length of her cleft and the insides of her thighs, and his tongue was instantly flooded with want. 

He placed one hand on her bottom and slid his fingers through her slick warmth, and she mewled and arched her spine. “Please!” she cried. 

Thrilled and moved by the sound of her desperation, he slid one finger inside of her. He curled his finger and spanked her at the same time, and Nare fell apart.

She arched her spine and sobbed and clenched her fists. “Please!” she wailed, and she bucked back to take his finger deeper. “Please, Solas, please fuck me, I need you so much, I — I want to be good, I’m trying, p-please…”

He inhaled shakily. Her needy voice, her perfect bowed body, her vibrating desperation, her sheer desire and her sheer unequivocal _trust…_

He pulled his finger free from her body and roughly began unbuttoning his trousers, and Nare turned around to face him. “Please,” she begged, and she reached for his trousers. “Professor, please—” 

He suddenly cradled her neck in his hands and kissed her, plunging his tongue into the heat of her mouth. She instantly yielded to his kiss, suckling greedily on his tongue as she unfastened his pants, and when she pulled his cock out and stroked him, he groaned into her mouth before breaking the kiss. 

“Turn around again,” he grunted. “Turn around, Nare.”

She nodded and turned around once more, arching her spine and spreading her legs, and Solas impatiently pulled a condom out of his trouser pocket — a condom he’d placed there this morning in shameless anticipation of a moment such as this. He quickly rolled the condom on while Nare whimpered and wiggled her hips, and when he slid his cock along the sweet warmth of her cleft, and sobbed and mewled. 

“Please,” she whined. “Solas, I waited for so long—”

“I know,” he panted. “I know, Nare. You were a very good student.” Then, in one smooth and careful thrust, he filled her up to the hilt.

It was instant relief. She was so warm and sleek, and he groaned mindlessly as he pressed his hips into her ass. Nare burst out a wild cry, and Solas languished in the sound of her pleasure just as much as he languished in the tight embrace of her body taking him deep.

He slid one hand up her body to caress her breast. She arched her back to press her breast more firmly into his palm, and he savoured the budding of her nipple through her bra as he thrust into her once more.

Then, with his cock deep inside of her, he reached his other arm around her and slipped his hand between her legs. 

He gently pressed his middle finger between her folds to find her clit, and she gasped out a strangled cry. “Oh f-fuck…”

He squeezed her breast and gently petted her clit. “Come for me, Nare,” he coaxed. “If you come for me, I will fuck you hard like you want.”

“Yes, professor,” she gasped. She was grinding her hips back toward him now, the small circular movements of her body bringing him deeper inside of her, and he breathed carefully to control himself as he stroked the tender little bud of her clit. 

As it turned out, he didn’t have to control himself for long; in less than a minute, Nare’s breathing changed, becoming more staggered and erratic, and her knuckles were white and tense on the counter. “I’m — Solas, I’m—” 

He reached up and tugged her hair, and she sobbed. “Oh fuck — _ah!_ ” She cried out and shuddered, and Solas _felt_ her climax as she clenched around his length. 

He gasped in a pleasured breath. “Good girl,” he groaned, and he thrust into her hard.

She let out an animalistic cry, made all the more guttural by the angle of her neck as she tilted her head back into his tugging hand, and Solas thrust into her once more, goaded by the sounds of her pleasure. In the space of a breath, he was fucking her hard and fast, one hand braced on her hip while his other hand was twined her hair, his pleasure rising swiftly as he stared at her: the dip at the base of her spine, the slickness of her pleasure coating his cock as he pounded into her, the rapturous expression on her flushed face as he pulled her hair… 

At the moment that his pleasure crashed over him, he gave Nare’s hair another tug. She gasped and leaned her head back, and he leaned in and took her lips in an eager and messy kiss. 

He moaned into her mouth and licked her tongue, and Nare whimpered as well — a sound he felt more than he heard as he filled her mouth with his tongue. He pumped into her desperately, his pleasure cresting more with every hard thrust, and when his climax eventually began to ebb away, he was so enraptured by the heat of her mouth that he couldn’t bear to pull away. 

He softened the kiss to a tender caress, focusing dreamily on the shape of her lips as they molded against his own. When she smiled against his lips, he pulled away from her. 

She started to laugh, and Solas smiled helplessly in return and stroked her neck. “Why are you laughing?” he asked.

“I just feel so good,” she replied, and another breathless spill of laughter left her.

He gazed at her with an aching affection in his chest. To hear that she felt good, that _he_ had helped to make her feel this way by doing exactly what felt so good to him… 

He carefully pulled out of her and turned her around to face him. “I wasn’t too rough, I hope.”

“Not at all,” she said. “You were… it was perfect.” She laughed again and shyly dropped his gaze, and Solas admired her for another precious moment before tilting her chin up. 

“Don’t ever be afraid to tell me if anything I do is too much for you,” he said softly. “Promise me that you will tell me if you need me to stop.”

“I promise, I will. But I don’t think I’ll have to.” She petted his chest. “I told you before, I know you won’t hurt me.”

He stroked her jawline with his thumb. There it was again: her unwavering trust in him. 

His chest felt swollen, like his feelings were bleeding from his heart to fill his ribcage with more emotion than he could handle. Unable to speak, he brushed his nose to hers before taking her lips in a slow and careful kiss. 

As always, she welcomed his kiss wholeheartedly, and he savoured the taste of her affection for a long moment before reluctantly stepping away to remove the condom. “I believe you have time to start a portrait study after all,” he said. “If you can focus, that is.”

She grinned as she dressed herself. “Is that a challenge?”

He smiled faintly. “Perhaps.”

Nare laughed brightly. “Nice try, professor. I bet I’ll focus even better now.” She shot him a saucy grin, then left his kitchen with a distinct spring in her step.

He smiled helplessly at her departing back, then picked up the clean brushes and the jar of solvent from the side of the sink. _You are an utter fool,_ he told himself as he followed Nare to his studio.

But as far as fools went, he was an exceedingly happy one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I had to do a little crash-course in oil painting. I mainly used videos from [Paint Coach](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCC_J48PF1BcUV6fmCBo2HKQ) and [Florent Farges](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC5_awWGxcl0jQmVWfd_kJLQ) on Youtube, as well as these two videos ([here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4lsy2SOm_A) and [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkCVrNoqcBU)) on colour theory. My fiancé also beta’ed that section for me, but his expertise is more in drawing and digital painting and sculpture than oil painting per se, so please be gentle if I fucked up. 😂
> 
> Next up: Felamaris texting and some Tamaris POV! ❤
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your wonderful artist and creator of Vixen Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) 😘


	25. Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, almost forgot to mention: there is a short sequence of sexting. Beware. 😉

Tamaris Mon Sept 28 9:45 a.m.  
Hey

Felassan 9:48 a.m.  
Avise. Missing me already?

Tamaris 9:48 a.m.  
My noon client had to reschedule. Want to meet for lunch

Felassan 9:48 a.m.  
I’d be honoured. What’s the occasion?

Tamaris 9:48 a.m.  
Huh? There’s no occasion

Felassan 9:48 a.m.  
If you say so. Where and when?

Tamaris 9:48 a.m.  


Felassan 9:49 a.m.  
😂 What did I do now?

Tamaris 9:49 a.m.  
It’s just a lunch invitation it’s not a big deal

Felassan 9:49 a.m.  
This is the first time you’ve invited me to join you somewhere.

Tamaris 9:49 a.m.  
It is not

Felassan 9:49 a.m.  
It is.

Tamaris 9:49 a.m.  
No it’s not!

Felassan 9:49 a.m.  
I dare you to check through our message history. I’ll bet you that I’m right.

Tamaris 9:49 a.m.  
No

Felassan 9:49 a.m.  
No what? You won’t search through your messages?

Felassan 9:49 a.m.  
Afraid to find out that you’re wrong?

Tamaris 9:50 a.m.  
I’m not making a bet against you

Felassan 9:50 a.m.  
Why not? Not a betting woman?

Tamaris 9:50 a.m.  
You don’t strike me as the kind of guy to make bets you won’t win

Felassan 9:50 a.m.  
An astute observation. 

Felassan 9:50 a.m.  
Does that mean you’re admitting that I’m right?

Tamaris 9:50 a.m.  
No you brat

Tamaris 9:50 a.m.  
I’m just not going to go checking through a billion messages just for the sake of a dumb bet

Felassan 9:50 a.m.  
Fair enough. The point still stands, however.

Tamaris 9:50 a.m.  
What was the fucking point again

Felassan 9:50 a.m.  
That you miss me and want to see me for lunch.

Tamaris 9:51 a.m.  
I’m of half a mind to take back the invitation

Felassan 9:51 a.m.  
Listen to the other half of your mind. It’s far wiser.

Tamaris 9:51 a.m.  
You’re a fucking piece of work you know that

Felassan 9:51 a.m.  
So I’ve heard.

Tamaris 9:51 a.m.  
12:15 at the Neighbour’s House

Felassan 9:51 a.m.  
I’ll see you then. 

****************************

Felassan 7:24 p.m.  
[img3478.jpg]

Felassan 7:24 p.m.  
Thank you for your leftovers. They make for a delicious dinner.

Tamaris 7:24 p.m.  
Anytime

Tamaris 7:24 p.m.  
Wait are you watching the next episode of Blue Wraith without me?

Felassan 7:24 p.m.  
Oops. You weren’t supposed to see that.

Tamaris 7:24 p.m.  
Why aren’t you waiting for me??

Felassan 7:25 p.m.  
Everyone is talking about it online. I’ve already been spoiled for a character reveal that happens halfway through the episode.

Tamaris 7:25 p.m.  
I can’t believe you’re watching without me

Felassan 7:25 p.m.  
Come over and watch it with me, then.

Felassan 7:30 p.m.  
I’m getting impatient, avise. I need to keep watching soon. It’s a very tense episode.

Tamaris 7:30 p.m.  
You already saw me once today

Felassan 7:30 p.m.  
I think I recall that, yes. 

Tamaris 7:30 p.m.  
Ha ha so fucking sarcastic

Felassan 7:30 p.m.  
😉 

Felassan 7:30 p.m.  
Is it a problem to see me twice in one day?

Felassan 7:33 p.m.  
Tamaris, consider it this way. Would you like to watch Blue Wraith?

Tamaris 7:33 p.m.  
Obviously

Felassan 7:33 p.m.  
Would you enjoy hearing my entertaining commentary while you watch it?

Tamaris 7:33 p.m.  
I guess you’re kind of entertaining sometimes

Felassan 7:33 p.m.  
Then come over. It’s as simple as that.

Tamaris 7:34 p.m.  
You don’t care about starting the episode all over again

Felassan 7:34 p.m.  
For you, I would gladly start again.

Tamaris 7:37 p.m.  
I’ll be there in 20

Felassan 7:37 p.m.  
Bring some popcorn.

Tamaris 7:37 p.m.  
🙄 Fine

Felassan 7:37 p.m.  
That’s my girl. 

****************************

Felassan Tues Sept 29 3:09 p.m.  
Some of my students were talking about you today.

Tamaris 3:35 p.m.  
What why

Felassan 3:52 p.m.  
One of them was a client of yours. She was raving about you.

Felassan 3:52 p.m.  
She said, and I quote, ‘I would let her step on me any day.’

Tamaris 3:52 p.m.  
LOL what the fuck

Tamaris 3:52 p.m.  
I’m actually laughing

Felassan 3:52 p.m.  
😂 I was hoping you would. It seems I’m not the only one who is charmed by your lovely scowl.

Tamaris 3:52 p.m.  
Uh huh

Tamaris 3:53 p.m.  
Totally not what I expected when you said you had students who were raving about me lol

Felassan 3:53 p.m.  
Don’t worry, their compliments weren’t only shallow. Your former client recommended your work as well.

Tamaris 3:53 p.m.  
Nice. Word of mouth is my most common referral source actually

Felassan 3:53 p.m.  
I figured as much. It’s worked remarkably well for you.

Tamaris 3:53 p.m.  
I was surprised at first too that it worked so well

Tamaris 3:53 p.m.  
But I’m fucking glad. Dalish tattoo artist from some random fucking reserve making a decent business in Val Royeaux? Humans who work out of commercial tattoo parlours can bite me

Tamaris 3:53 p.m.  
I sound like a bitch I know

Felassan 3:54 p.m.  
You certainly do. I’m practically swooning.

Tamaris 3:54 p.m.  
I find that hard to imagine

Felassan 3:54 p.m.  
I’ll show you my swoon the next time I see you. 

Tamaris 3:54 p.m.  
Lol ok

Felassan 3:54 p.m.  
On that note, when will I see you next?

Tamaris 3:54 p.m.  
I have another client at 6

Felassan 3:54 p.m.  
Shame. Dinner tomorrow?

Tamaris 3:54 p.m.  
Sure. Let me know where and when

Felassan 3:54 p.m.  
I will. 

****************************  
Felassan Wed Sept 30 11:18 p.m.  
I can still taste you.

Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
Maybe you should wash your face then

Felassan 11:21 p.m.  
That wasn’t a complaint. It was praise. Or perhaps a plea.

Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
A plea for what? I just left your place

Felassan 11:21 p.m.  
Would you send me a suggestive text?

Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
Just call it sexting, don’t be so fancy about it

Tamaris 11:21 p.m.  
Besides I’m walking home I can’t sext while I’m walking

Felassan 11:21 p.m.  
When you get home, then?

Tamaris 11:35 p.m.  
I can’t believe you need sexts. I just sucked you dry

Felassan 11:37 p.m.  
👀 You have my attention.

Tamaris 11:37 p.m.  
Lol there’s no way you found that sexy

Felassan 11:37 p.m.  
What I find sexy is the thought of you walking home extra quickly so you could send me that text.

Tamaris 11:37 p.m.  
I didn’t walk home extra quickly

Felassan 11:37 p.m.  
Now now, there’s need to lie to me. I know how long it takes to walk to your apartment.

Tamaris 11:37 p.m.  
You think you’re so clever

Felassan 11:37 p.m.  
Not at all. Just eager to get your suggestive texts.

Tamaris 11:38 p.m.  
Why don’t you just call them sexts it’s so much shorter

Felassan 11:38 p.m.  
Honestly? I hate that word. It sounds terrible. Very crude.

Tamaris 11:38 p.m.  
It’s fitting though. Sending sexts is pretty fucking crude lol

Felassan 11:38 p.m.  
Is it?

Felassan 11:38 p.m.  
Do you find it crude for me to describe, in detail, the way my cock throbs for you when I’m stripping you?

Felassan 11:38 p.m.  
Is it crude to tell you that my hands feel empty without your breasts to fill them? 

Felassan 11:39 p.m.  
Maybe you think it’s too crude for me to remind you of how it felt to have my fingers moving inside of you. You liked it, from what I remember. The way you were twisting and crying my name was fantastic. Did it feel as good as it looked?

Felassan 11:40 p.m.  
Answer me, Tamaris.

Tamaris 11:40 p.m.  
Tell me more 

Felassan 11:40 p.m.  
Will you do the same for me, avise?

Felassan 11:40 p.m.  
Will you tell me nice crude things when I’ve finished getting you off?

Tamaris 11:40 p.m.  
Yes

Felassan 11:40 p.m.  
I like watching you. I like seeing that pretty face of yours looking so desperate for me.

Felassan 11:41 p.m.  
I like how wet you get for me. I like licking up all that nice sweet wetness and having you squirm for me.

Felassan 11:41 p.m.  
I like when you push your pussy toward my face, like you want my tongue inside of you. 

Felassan 11:42 p.m.  
I like putting my fingers inside of you while I’m licking you. I love seeing you shaking for me while I fuck you nice and hard with my fingers.

Felassan 11:44 p.m.  
Is it my turn yet?

Tamaris 11:45 p.m.  
I want your mouth on my pussy

Tamaris 11:45 p.m.  
Does it make you hard when I come on your fingers

Felassan 11:45 p.m.  
Yes, it does.

Tamaris 11:45 p.m.  
I’m thinking about you putting your fingers in me while I suck your cock

Tamaris 11:46 p.m.  
Your fingers are deep inside me and making me moan on your cock

Tamaris 11:46 p.m.  
You can hear how much I love having your cock in my throat

Tamaris 11:46 p.m.  
I like when you’re so deep that I can’t breathe. I like when you fuck my mouth

Tamaris 11:46 p.m.  
I want you to fuck me hard

Felassan 11:50 p.m.  
I will. I’ll fuck you as hard as you want, as soon as you want me to.

Felassan 11:53 p.m.  
I know you’re reading these, avise. 

Tamaris 11:53 p.m.  
Yeah

Felassan 11:53 p.m.  
Remember, I’m in no rush. I’m perfectly happy to take it slow with you.

Tamaris 11:55 p.m.  
You don’t think I’m full of shit

Felassan 11:55 p.m.  
Why would I ever think that?

Tamaris 11:55 p.m.  
I say I want you to fuck me but I then keep leaving before we do

Felassan 11:55 p.m.  
You have your reasons.

Tamaris 11:55 p.m.  
How do you know I’m not just  
Idk full of shit or something

Felassan 11:56 p.m.  
Everyone has reasons for the things they do, even if they don’t know their own reasons yet.

Tamaris 11:57 p.m.  
How are you so fucking wise

Felassan 11:57 p.m.  
It’s all an act. I’m actually a fool.

Tamaris 11:57 p.m.  
I seriously don’t believe that

Tamaris 11:57 p.m.  
How is it that you know things before I tell them to you sometimes

Felassan 11:57 p.m.  
Truthfully? I’m just observant. The leisure afforded by taking the slow and meandering road through life.

Tamaris 11:57 p.m.  
You’re observant? That’s it?

Felassan 11:58 p.m.  
I’m the product of a strange life. And my friends are older than me. Wisdom by osmosis, you could say. 

Tamaris 11:58 p.m.  
That’s not a thing lol

Felassan 11:58 p.m.  
😉

Felassan 11:58 p.m.  
In any case, rest assured: there’s no rush for us to have sex. It is possible to want something badly and not be ready for it.

Tamaris Thurs Oct 1 12:02 a.m.  
I like you

Felassan 12:02 a.m.  
I like you, too. 

Tamaris 12:02 a.m.  
Good night 

Felassan 12:02 a.m.  
Sweet dreams, avise. x 

********************************

Tamaris 8:54 p.m.  
I have another random question for you 

Felassan 8:54 p.m.  
More dumpling questions? Let’s hear them.

Tamaris 8:54 p.m.  
Not dumplings this time actually  
This time it’s fucking cakes

Felassan 8:54 p.m.  
Excuse me? 😂

Tamaris 8:54 p.m.  
Yep. Pepto fours, those little bitesized cakes

Tamaris 8:54 p.m.  
Petit fours*** fucking autocorrect

Felassan 8:55 p.m.  
Ah. I see. Go on, I’ll bite.

Tamaris 8:55 p.m.  
I can imagine you smiling lol

Felassan 8:55 p.m.  
You know me too well. Let’s have the question, avise.

Tamaris 8:55 p.m.  
Do petit four flavours mean anything in particular in Arlathan

Felassan 8:55 p.m.  
Athera doesn’t know that I know these messages are about Abelas, does she?

Tamaris 8:55 p.m.  
No lol

Tamaris 8:55 p.m.  
I didn’t have the heart to tell her you knew

Felassan 8:55 p.m.  
All right. Tell her that Abelas’s favourite flavour of petit fours is vanilla-almond.

Tamaris 8:56 p.m.  
She’s blushing 😂

Felassan 8:56 p.m.  
Of course she is. I expected nothing less.

Tamaris 8:57 p.m.  
This is Athera! You’re a jerk!

Felassan 8:57 p.m.  
Hello, Athera. How are you?

Tamaris 8:57 p.m.  
How did you know I was asking about Abelas??

Felassan 8:57 p.m.  
I know everything. I’m actually a spy. 

Tamaris 8:57 p.m.  
You’re so annoying!!! 

Felassan 8:57 p.m.  
That hurts my feelings. I suppose this means you don’t want an answer about your petit fours question, then.

Tamaris 8:57 p.m.  
So different flavours do mean different things, then?

Felassan 8:58 p.m.  
Of course. Chocolate ones mean that you want to sleep with the person you’re making them for. Fruit-filled ones mean you’re proposing marriage. Vanilla ones mean you want to be just friends.

Tamaris 8:58 p.m.  
What about vanilla-almond? What does that flavour mean?

Felassan 8:58 p.m.  
That flavour means ‘I’m an ex-soldier who enjoys going out for lunch with one colleague and one colleague only.’ 

Tamaris 8:58 p.m.  
Omg you’re just pulling my leg aren’t you??

Felassan 8:58 p.m.  
I couldn’t resist. You make it far too easy.

Tamaris 8:58 p.m.  
😤😤😤 

Tamaris 8:58 p.m.  
Just you wait. I’m going to tell Abelas that you’re the one who spilled coffee on the table in the main room and didn’t clean it up, then you’ll be sorry!

Felassan 8:58 p.m.  
I’m positively trembling. Unfortunate for me that he would believe such slander, especially if it came from you.

Tamaris 8:58 p.m.  
Why do you say that?

Felassan 8:58 p.m.  
He trusts your judgment more than anyone else in the lab. Aside from Solas, that is.

Tamaris 8:59 p.m.  
Seriously? You think so?

Felassan 8:59 p.m.  
Absolutely. Consider this: when was the last time he questioned you on something you wanted to change?

Tamaris 8:59 p.m.  
He always questions what I do!

Felassan 8:59 p.m.  
I’ll rephrase that. When was the last time he really pushed back and didn’t let you have your way?

Tamaris 9:01 p.m.  
So what are you saying?

Felassan 9:02 p.m.  
I’m just saying that he trusts your judgment. It’s something to be proud of. He doesn’t delegate easily. Or ever, really. 

Tamaris 9:03 p.m.  
It’s Tamaris 

Tamaris 9:03 p.m.  
I’m giving A your number so you can have your little convo in your own time

Felassan 9:03 p.m.  
Is that jealousy I hear?

Tamaris 9:03 p.m.  
No 

Felassan 9:03 p.m.  
Not even a hint of jealousy?

Tamaris 9:03 p.m.  
No you fucking brat I’m not jealous

Felassan 9:03 p.m.  
Good. You have no reason to be jealous. You are my favourite woman in Thedas.

Tamaris 9:04 p.m.  
I have to go now

Felassan 9:04 p.m.  
Good night, avise. x

Tamaris 9:04 p.m.  
Night x

*********************************

Felassan Fri Oct 2 10:07 a.m.  
Any interest in going to the open-air film festival in Parc LaFontaine tonight? It’s the last night.

Tamaris 12:57 p.m.  
Sorry I was with a client

Tamaris 12:57 p.m.  
I can’t sorry, girls’ night tonight

Felassan 1:04 p.m.  
Ah, of course. I forgot. 

Tamaris 1:04 p.m.  
Let me know if you see anything good though

Felassan 1:04 p.m.  
I’m not going to go.

Tamaris 1:04 p.m.  
What why not

Felassan 1:04 p.m.  
I don’t feel like going on my own. I’ll stay home and play a game instead. 

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
Why don’t you ask someone else to go with you

Felassan 1:05 p.m.  
Are you worried about me being lonely? 

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
I don’t want you to miss out on a thing you wanted to do

Felassan 1:05 p.m.  
Don’t worry, avise. I’m happy with my own company.

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
You don’t have many friends do you

Felassan 1:05 p.m.  
😂 Very nice. 

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
Fuck that sounded bad

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
I didn’t mean it in a bad way

Felassan 1:05 p.m.  
It’s all right. I’m not offended. 

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
I’m sorry

Tamaris 1:05 p.m.  
How can you not be offended, that sounded so fucking mean

Tamaris 1:06 p.m.  
It’s not like I can even talk, I have like five friends in total lol

Felassan 1:06 p.m.  
Those five friends are by choice, correct?

Tamaris 1:06 p.m.  
What do you mean

Felassan 1:06 p.m.  
I mean that you’re not looking to surround yourself with dozens of friends.

Tamaris 1:06 p.m.  
Fuck no

Tamaris 1:06 p.m.  
I’d rather have a couple really good friends than a whole bunch of acquaintances. I can’t be bothered with that

Felassan 1:07 p.m.  
I am the same. It’s not often that I find people whose company I prefer to my own.

Tamaris 1:07 p.m.  
But YOU came right up to ME in the bar that time

Felassan 1:07 p.m.  
I told you before: I could see something kindred in you.

Tamaris 1:07 p.m.  
Part of your super observational skills?

Felassan 1:07 p.m.  
You could say that.

Tamaris 1:10 p.m.  
What about asking Solas or Abelas to go to the film festival

Felassan 1:10 p.m.  
To be honest, I asked Solas before I asked you. But he has work to catch up on tonight.

Tamaris 1:10 p.m.  
He’s working on a Friday night? That fucking sucks

Felassan 1:10 p.m.  
Quite. He’s fallen behind on his marking, it seems.

Tamaris 1:10 p.m.  
Well I don’t feel bad turning you down now since I was your second choice lol

Felassan 1:10 p.m.  
I told you, there’s no need to feel bad. And you were only my second choice because the films are in Orlesian.

Tamaris 1:10 p.m.  
Oh yeah I’d be a shitty companion for that

Felassan 1:10 p.m.  
You would never be a shitty companion. I was actually quite looking forward to having you sarcastically dub in your own dialogue.

Tamaris 1:11 p.m.  
😂 I only did that one time 

Tamaris 1:11 p.m.  
You’re never going to let it go are you

Felassan 1:11 p.m.  
Never. I haven’t laughed so hard in years.

Tamaris 1:11 p.m.  
It wasn’t even that funny 

Felassan 1:11 p.m.  
It was unexpected. You caught me off guard. It was an exquisite moment.

Tamaris 1:11 p.m.  
Glad you liked it lol

Felassan 1:12 p.m.  
What are you up to tomorrow?

Tamaris 4:07 p.m.  
Sorry I had another client

Tamaris 4:07 p.m.  
Going dress shopping with A&N tomorrow

Felassan 4:37 p.m.  
Dress shopping? You?

Tamaris 4:39 p.m.  
Fuck you lol I have great taste 

Felassan 4:39 p.m.  
I don’t doubt it. But a mall on Saturday?

Tamaris 4:39 p.m.  
True. I fucking hate crowds

Felassan 4:39 p.m.  
Hence my surprise. What’s the special occasion?

Tamaris 4:39 p.m.  
No occasion. Nare just has this one red dress she wants to replace

Felassan 4:39 p.m.  
Fair enough. I wish her luck on her search.

Tamaris 4:43 p.m.  
Want to come with us?

Felassan 4:43 p.m.  
You’re inviting me to come dress shopping with your friends?

Tamaris 4:43 p.m.  
Never mind 

Tamaris 4:43 p.m.  
You don’t have to come it’ll be boring for you never mind

Felassan 4:43 p.m.  
I’d be happy to come.

Tamaris 4:44 p.m.  
Seriously?

Felassan 4:44 p.m.  
Certainly. 

Tamaris 4:45 p.m.  
It’ll be boring though

Felassan 4:45 p.m.  
Will you be there?

Tamaris 4:45 p.m.  
Obviously

Felassan 4:45 p.m.  
Then it won’t be boring.

Tamaris 4:49 p.m.  
Ok meet us there at 10am 

Felassan 4:49 p.m.  
All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. x

*******************************

Tamaris Sat Oct 3 1:38 a.m.  
Are you sure you want to come dress shopping tomorrow

Felassan 1:40 a.m.  
Technically, that’s happening today. Good morning, by the way.

Tamaris 1:40 a.m.  
Oh shit yeah it’s morning sorry

Felassan 1:40 a.m.  
Are you drunk texting? 

Tamaris 1:40 a.m.  
No you smartass I’m totally-sober texting

Tamaris 1:40 a.m.  
Seriously though you don’t have to come tomorrow

Tamaris 1:40 a.m.  
Today*** whatever 

Felassan 1:40 a.m.  
Do you not want me to come?

Tamaris 1:40 a.m.  
No I do 

Felassan 1:41 a.m.  
You feel strange about inviting me to spend time with your friends.

Felassan 1:44 a.m.  
I can see you staring at your phone.

Tamaris 1:44 a.m.  
Shut up

Felassan 1:44 a.m.  
What are you thinking?

Tamaris 1:47 a.m.  
Nothing really

Felassan 1:48 a.m.  
If this makes you feel better, I told Solas that I want him to meet you.

Tamaris 1:48 a.m.  
You did?

Felassan 1:48 a.m.  
Yes. 

Tamaris 1:50 a.m.  
I feel weird

Felassan 1:50 a.m.  
Weird in a good way, or a bad way?

Tamaris 1:50 a.m.  
I don’t know

*************************************

Tamaris lay in her bed staring at her phone and waiting for Felassan to reply. When her phone suddenly vibrated with a call, she was so startled that she jumped.

The call was from Felassan. She stared at the screen with her heart in her throat, then hit ‘accept’ and brought the phone to her ear. 

“This is a real dick move, you know,” she said quietly. 

“What is?” he asked.

“Calling me when you know I’m holding my phone and can’t pretend to miss your call,” she drawled.

He chuckled. “It is my joy and my pleasure to catch you off guard.”

Tamaris huffed. A moment of silence fell between them, a soft and expectant kind of silence, and she could almost imagine him lying in bed with her. 

The thought made something twist in her belly. She nibbled the inside of her cheek and tried to think of something to say, but she knew why Felassan had called her: he wanted her to explain why she was being so weird about inviting him to hang out with her and the girls.

As usual, he was the one to break the heavy silence. “What are you thinking about?” he said.

She swallowed hard. She was thinking that inviting Felassan to spend time with her friends meant admitting that he was important to her. But admitting that he was important was like giving him a weapon to use against her. If he knew how important he was becoming with every passing day, it would just hurt even more if he fucked her over in the future.

She breathed silently and shallowly into the phone. When Felassan spoke again, his voice was very soft. “I’m right here, _avise._ ”

 _I’m right here._ It was a comforting little thing to say, a small reassurance that he was listening and waiting — waiting patiently, just like he’d been doing all along. And all of a sudden, Tamaris was sick of having to guard herself. 

Felassan was patient and funny and kind. He was so careful with her when she was being difficult like this, and she was fucking sick and tired of always feeling like she had to hold herself apart from him. 

She took a deep breath, then forced herself to speak. “I had a shitty time with an ex,” she said.

“What happened?” Felassan murmured.

She licked her lips nervously before going on. “He broke up with me when… when something was happening with my family,” she said awkwardly. “I didn’t see it coming. I — I should have, in retrospect. He was fucking selfish. But I didn’t expect it, and it… happened at the worst possible time.” A flicker of remembered betrayal pulsed in her chest, and she inhaled slowly to quell the anger. “Right when I fucking needed him, he left me.”

“I am sorry, Tamaris,” Felassan said gently. 

She shrugged before remembering he couldn’t see the gesture. “It’s… well, it’s not fine, but it was years ago. He was just a selfish kid.”

“But you worry still that I might do the same thing,” Felassan said quietly.

She rolled onto her side and scowled into the darkness. “Don’t try telling me you wouldn't fuck me over like that, because you can’t promise that,” she said in a hard voice. “Nobody can.”

“You’re right,” he said, to her surprise. “Nobody can promise you that, and I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to try.”

“Then… then why should I trust you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Were you happier before we met?” he asked.

Something twisted deep in her chest, as though his words had punched through her armour somehow. “Were _you?_ ” she asked defensively.

When he replied, she could hear the smile in his voice. “I was fine before we met. But I am certainly happier now.”

She didn’t know how to reply. He made her happy too, obviously. But telling him he made her happy would feel like she was giving him power somehow.

 _Shut the fuck up,_ she scolded herself. _Just tell him he makes you fucking happy._

Before she could say anything, however, Felassan was speaking again. “Do you remember when we were talking about bets the other day?”

“Yeah,” she murmured.

“You were right; I don’t make bets that I’m not confident about,” he said. “But even a sure bet involves a risk. Everything involves a risk, really. Taking a new job, moving to a new city, going for a drink with a stranger… everything involves a risk.”

“Okay,” she said slowly.

“You’re a risk I want to take, Tamaris,” he said. “It’s up to you to decide if you want to take a risk on me as well.”

His voice was so soft and reassuring. Cosseted in the safety of her duvet and the late-night darkness with his voice in her ear, Tamaris was finally spurred to speak openly. 

“I’m scared,” she admitted.

“Scared of taking a risk?” he asked.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“That’s fine,” he said easily. “Just take your time.”

She rolled onto her back and stared blankly up at the ceiling. He was so calm and easygoing that it would be infuriating if it wasn’t so endearing. 

“How are _you_ not scared?” she asked. “I’m a shitty risk. Aren’t you sick of waiting for me to get my shit together?”

“Some people are worth waiting for,” he said. “You are one of them.”

Her heart twisted again, like he was squeezing it with his words. “You don’t know that,” she mumbled. 

He huffed in amusement. “I hate to sound like a wise old man, but I’ve known enough people on different walks of life to be a fairly good judge of character.”

She frowned. Once again, she was struck by the strange realization that she still doesn’t know what had happened in his life to give him such a philosophical outlook: this strangely calm outlook as though he had all the time in the world to get what he wanted. During the past week, she’d almost asked him multiple times about his life in Arlathan. But then she’d remembered that it would likely lead to questions about _her_ life before they’d met, and that thought made her balk. She didn’t want to go down that complicated road quite yet. 

But now, as she lay in the late-night darkness with her phone pressed warmly to her ear, she really wanted to know more about Felassan.

“What…” She trailed off before she could even formulate the question.

“What were you going to ask?” he said.

“I… don’t know much about your life in Arlathan,” she said slowly. “All I really know is that you’re an only child and you’ve known Solas and Abelas for a long time.”

“I’d be happy to tell you,” he said. “But… it is a lot to unpack. Maybe we can pick this up tomorrow.”

“You mean today,” she said dryly.

He chuckled. “I humbly stand corrected.”

His late-night laughter was soft and warm, like wrapping herself in a blanket that was fresh out of the dryer. If Tamaris closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that he was tucked under the duvet with her. 

Fuck, she liked him a _lot._ And she was getting fucking tired of forcing herself to stay away from him. 

His soft and intimate voice drifted into her ear once more. “I’ll see you at ten, then?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“All right,” he said. “Sweet dreams—”

“Felassan?” she said suddenly.

“Yes?” 

She hesitated. There was a warm sort of weight in her chest and her belly, and as she lay in bed thinking about Felassan’s wisdom and his patience and his warm lilting voice in her ear, the heavy warmth seemed to swell.

She swallowed hard before speaking. “Um… thanks.”

“For what?”

“For… calling me,” she said carefully. 

His answer was curled with a hint of laughter. “I thought you hated phone calls.”

“I do,” she said dryly. “But they might be okay from you. Maybe. Sometimes.”

He chuckled. “A true concession. I’m honoured.”

She smiled faintly. “Shut the fuck up.”

He let out another little laugh. “Good night, _avise_.”

“‘Night,” she said. Then, somewhat reluctantly, she ended the call. 

She plugged her phone in and placed it on her bedside table, then curled up on her side. She thought about his soft voice in her ear through the phone, and she wondered what it would be like to have that voice in her ear as he curled up behind her in bed.

A hollow sort of feeling opened up in her belly, like a yearning sort of ache. She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. _Everything involves a risk,_ Tamaris thought. And despite her hardened caution, despite the voice in her head warning her that this was dangerous, she was really starting to hope Felassan was worth the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: a nice long chapter of Abelas POV! 
> 
> Timeline notes: I'm trying to keep everyone in the same timeline, but the next chapter will be a slight backtrack. This chapter ended late on a Friday night, but the next chapter will pick up a little earlier that same day, on Friday afternoon.
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and my partner-in-crime and creator of sweet Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	26. Felan'asahngar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline reminder: this chapter takes place during the Friday that the previous chapter ended on. I hope that makes sense. 🙏

###  ABELAS 

Abelas scowled as he revised the document on his computer screen, infuriated by Morrigan and her attempts to undermine him and Solas. He’d spent several hours over the weekend reviewing the archaic university rule she was trying to use to block their access to the Vir’Abelasan. He’d picked apart the paperwork and written a detailed rebuttal that he planned to present at their meeting with the dean today, but half an hour ago, he’d received a new email from Morrigan mentioning some other obscure regulations from the archeology department that she planned to bring to Vivienne’s attention — even though these rules had _not_ been part of the original agenda for today’s meeting.

He had immediately emailed Vivienne and called her office to request that Morrigan’s new issues be deferred for a later meeting, and he was fairly sure Vivienne would respect the original agenda. But Morrigan was unpredictable, prone to doing and saying whatever she wished instead of doing what was proper, and now Abelas was feeling as though he needed to be well-versed in the archeology department’s specific regulations even though they shouldn’t necessarily apply to his and Solas’s program, since they weren’t part of the archeology department. Affiliated, certainly, but they technically weren’t a part of— 

Someone knocked on his office door, and he was so immersed in his furious thoughts that he actually jumped. 

He exhaled sharply and rubbed his forehead. “Enter,” he barked.

Athera poked her head in. “Is this a bad time?”

He stared blankly at her for a moment, then checked his watch. _Fenedhis_ , it was noon already. Where was the day going?

He dragged his palm over his hair and waved her in. “It’s… no, it’s not a bad time. You are right on time, in fact.” 

“Okay, just checking.” She sidled into his office, and her brow creased slightly. “Are you… is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” he said vaguely. He scowled at his screen for a moment longer, then minimized the window and watched as Athera sat across from him and set her lunch on his desk. 

If he was totally honest, his ire wasn’t entirely directed at Morrigan. He was slightly irritated with Solas as well. Solas had fallen behind on his marking this week, so he was taking the morning to catch up on grading papers for his fourth-year art history class, meaning he wasn’t available to look over the new regulations that Morrigan had sent. Not that Abelas needed Solas’s help to look over the regulations — he was perfectly capable of looking them over himself — but he preferred to debrief with Solas prior to their meetings with Morrigan and Vivienne. They wouldn’t be able to do that today, however, since it was lunchtime now and Abelas had a class right after lunch and right before their meeting with the Dean. 

He hadn’t expressed his irritation to Solas, however, and he wasn’t planning to. It wasn’t like Solas had intended to fall behind on his marking. Besides, if Abelas complained, Solas would calmly ask him why he was fussing over the archeology rules if they weren’t part of today’s meeting agenda, and Abelas _knew_ that that would devolve into Solas lecturing at him about taking on more tasks than were necessary and that he needed to work less. 

“Abelas?” Athera said tentatively. 

He blinked at her, then rubbed his forehead. “I apologize. You have my attention.” He stood up and went to the mini-fridge in the corner for his lunchtime nutrition shake, then returned to the desk and raised his eyebrows. “What items are on your translation list today?”

She eyed him cautiously for a moment, then tapped open her list of Elvhen words on her phone. “Um, the first thing I was wondering about was the word ‘ _felan’asahngar_ ’.” 

“It is pronounced as _felan’asahngar_ ,” he said, placing a slightly different emphasis on the second syllable of the word.

“ _Felan’asahngar_?” she tried.

He nodded. “Yes. Very good.”

She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thanks! Okay, so I know it translates to ‘lucky plant’ and that it’s involved in the courtship somehow, but there’s this whole subtext that I think I’m missing.” She lifted a bite of soba noodles to her mouth, hiding her mouth with her free hand as she did, and as usual, Abelas surreptitiously admired the delicate way she ate. 

He nodded. “Yes, the _felan’asahngar_ arc is the most humorous part of _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_.”

She nodded as she swallowed, then lowered her hand. “I knew I was missing something. It seemed like there was a farce involved, but I can’t figure out what it is.” She took another bite of noodles, and Abelas nodded. 

“You are right,” he said. “It is a farce. _Felan’asahngar_ was romantically significant in Arlathan in more ways than one.” He folded his arms. “At the time when that book was written, the tradition was for a man to present a single bloom of _felan’asahngar_ to a woman to show his intention to court her. He would bring an offering of _felan’asahngar_ to her family when requesting permission from the family to be bound to her, and—”

“To be bound to her?” Athera asked.

“Yes,” he said. “The word for ‘binding’ will have come up many times by the time you are reading the section about the _fela’nasahngar._ ”

Her eyes widened. “Are you talking about the word ‘ _saota_ ’?”

“Yes,” he said. ‘ _Saota_ ’ means ‘binding’.”

“I thought it meant ‘marriage’!” she exclaimed.

“In practice, the meaning is the same,” he said. “But metaphorically or… poetically, rather, ‘binding’ is my preferred common-tongue translation of the word.” He sipped his shake before speaking again. “I wrote an editorial about this for the Fereldan Journal of Translation Arts, in fact.”

“You did?” she said in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“It was a very short editorial,” he said. “And it received little attention.”

“What did it say?” she asked.

“I outlined the history of the word ‘ _saota_ ’,” he said. “It is tied to old Elvhen lore regarding spirits and the nature of the soul. In ancient Arlathan, it was believed that spirits lived in harmony with the Elvhen people, and in fact, that the Elvhen people were all spirits once who had taken a bodily form. When two lovers became bonded for life, their spirits became one, hence the literal translation of the word: ‘saota’ means ‘one from two’ — that is, two spirits bound into a single soul.”

Her expression softened. “Wow,” she said. “That’s so… that’s really romantic.” She rubbed her nose, then took a larger bite of noodles.

“I agree,” he said. “The word has a rich and poetic history. You can see, then, why I prefer the word ‘binding’ to ‘marriage’.”

“Oh, totally,” she said. “That’s a great reason to write an editorial.” She smiled at him, and something about the quality of her smile made his heart beat faster.

He cleared his throat, then took a gulp of his shake. “As I was saying, the… yes, the _felan’asahngar_. It was offered to families as a way to show one’s intent to bind oneself to a loved one, and it was also considered a token of affection for spouses to commemorate the anniversary of their binding.”

Her face suddenly cleared with comprehension, and she lowered her chopsticks. “Oh, I get it now! Mahanon gave a _felan’asahngar_ bouquet to Ellana the day before her parents’ anniversary celebration meaning to court her, but she thinks it’s for the celebration, even though she really _does_ want him to court her!”

“Exactly,” Abelas said with a faint smile. “Hence the farcical aspect of the situation.”

She giggled. “That’s so cute. I love it so much.” She beamed at him. “Thank you for recommending this book to me. It’s so sweet. It reminds me of one of my Hercinian dramas.”

“Hercinian dramas?” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “They’re full of all kinds of cute scenarios like this, with the pining and the misunderstandings.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I wonder if you’d like them, actually.”

“This is a television show?” he asked

She smiled as she chewed another bite of noodles behind her hand, then swallowed before replying. “They’re TV shows, yeah. Like mini-series — the whole story is wrapped up in a single season, but the episodes are usually more than an hour long.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah. I… don’t have time for television.”

Her eyes grew wide. “You don’t watch TV?”

He shook his head, and she sat back slightly in her chair. “Wow. You’re…”

He frowned. “What?” he said reluctantly. Was she going to say he was boring? Stingy with his time? Lacking in outside interests? He’d heard each of these complaints before from women he had dated in the past. Not that he and Athera were dating, but… 

“You’re missing out, that’s all,” she said. “I really think you’d like them.”

His shoulders loosened slightly. “What makes you think so?”

“You seem like a romantic guy,” she said.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Her cheeks turned red. “I — nothing. I mean… well, you like romance novels and you wrote an article to a journal about the word that means ‘marriage’. It’s pretty romantic.” She shoved another bite of noodles into her mouth.

He stared at her, stunned into silence by her compliment. She swallowed hastily and gave him a pleading look. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s really nice that you’re romantic. It’s rare that men are so, um, shit. I mean…” She flushed even more. “Oh gods. Anyway, we should–”

He finally found his words. “Thank you.”

She blinked. “Why? What for?”

“For thinking kindly of me,” he said.

She gazed at him for a long moment, and his heart thumped again at the warmth in her face.

His computer dinged. He tore his eyes away from her lovely face and looked at the screen.

It was another email from Morrigan. The moment he saw her name in his inbox, his shoulders tensed anew. 

He reached instinctively for the mouse, but Athera spoke before he could click the email. “Abelas, are you sure everything is okay?”

He exhaled slowly and forced himself to face her again. “Yes. Let’s move on to the next word on your list.”

She frowned slightly. “If it’s a work thing that’s bothering you, maybe I can help.”

“No,” he said brusquely. “I don’t require assistance with this. Tell me the next word on your list.”

Her frown deepened, and she laid her chopsticks on the edge of her bowl. “You know it’s part of my job to make your life easier, right?”

“I thought you weren’t here to be my assistant,” he said snarkily. Then he immediately regretted his petty words. 

“I’m not here to be your assistant,” she said evenly. “But my job _is_ to take on some of the administrative duties of this lab. If your problem is an administrative one, maybe I can help.”

He took a calming breath and released it slowly. “Technically, yes, this is an administrative issue. But it a long-standing one that would take considerable time for you to familiarize yourself with.”

“I’m a fast worker,” she said. That’s not a problem.”

“I said no, Athera,” he said sharply. “I can handle the issue without your assistance.” He gestured at her phone. “Let us move on to your next word.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, then suddenly stood up. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He stared at her. “I — excuse me?”

“Let’s get out of here,” she repeated. “Let’s go for a walk.”

He recoiled. “Why? No. I — that will take too much time.”

“It’ll take the same amount of time we were going to spend on this Elvhen translation,” she replied.

“That is time spent not doing the translation,” he said with growing annoyance.

“The translation isn’t urgent.”

“Going for a walk is not urgent either,” he retorted.

“Yeah, but getting your shoulders down from up around your ears _is_ kind of urgent,” she said wryly.

He forced his shoulders to relax and straightened his posture. “My shoulders are not up around my ears.”

She eyed him chidingly, then folded her arms. “Come on, Abelas. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

He gave her a hard look, and she tilted her head. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll take you to my favourite bookstore in the area. It’s just a ten-minute walk away.”

He huffed. “A common-tongue bookstore.”

She laughed brightly. “Don’t be a snob. Come on, let’s see if I can recommend a book for you. The fresh air will do you good.” She gave him an expectant look, and he gazed with rising frustration at her wide grey eyes.

He finally gave in with ill grace. “Fine. But I have a class at—”

“—at one o’clock, I know. You’ll be on time, I promise. Bring your shake.” She picked up her bowl of unfinished noodles, and Abelas frowned. 

“What about _your_ lunch?” he asked.

“I’ll eat it when I get back. Come on, let’s go!” She marched back to her office, and when Abelas came out of his office a minute later, she was wearing her coat and a smile. 

“You won’t regret this, I promise,” she said.

“I already do,” he grumbled as he followed her down the hall.

She tutted. “That’s because we’re still inside. You’ll see, as soon as we get outside and you get a nice breath of fresh air, you’ll feel much better. It’ll wipe your work stress away.” She waved goodbye to Dagna and Tamlen, who were staring avidly at them from the kitchenette.

Abelas nodded stiffly to the students and pushed open the lab door for Athera. “I fail to see how ignoring my work will help me to feel less stressed about my work.”

“It’s not ignoring your work,” she said in exasperation. “It’s taking a well-needed break. Seriously, Abelas, I worry about you sometimes.”

He looked at her in surprise as they made their way down the hall. “You worry about _me?_ For what purpose?”

She made a little face. “Look, I know you’re not going to like this, but I honestly think you work too hard.”

“ _Elgar’em shala’em,_ ” he muttered.

“Just hear me out,” she pleaded. “It’s really important to find a work-life balance so you don’t burn out. Trust me, you don’t want to do that.”

He frowned at her. She was very emphatic about this, and her face was unusually serious.

She grimaced again. “I know, I know, you think I’m just a silly kid and what do I know about—” 

“That is not what I think,” he said sharply.

She blinked. “Sorry?”

“I don’t think you are a silly child,” he said. “I…” He ran his hand over his braid. “I admit, I disdained you for your youth when you first joined our lab. But I was wrong. Your attitude and your commitment to our work show a maturity beyond your years. And I certainly do not see you as a child.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink. “Okay. I, um, that’s… okay, cool.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, and Abelas idly wondered how it would feel to be the one to tuck her smooth chestnut strands behind the delicate point of her ear.

He wondered how she would react if he ever reached out to touch her in such an intimate way. He wondered if he would ever gather the confidence to find out.

They were quiet as they made their way out of the history building. Once they were outside, Athera gulped in a breath of air and patted her still-pink cheeks. “Is it just me, or is it warm in there?” she said with a nervous little laugh.

“I don’t feel that it was overly warm,” he said. Then, as she had suggested, he took a deep breath. 

The air was fresh and slightly humid from this morning’s rain. He exhaled slowly, and Athera offered him a little smile. “So? Do you feel better?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Not yet, no.”

Her smile became warmer, and she chuckled. “Well then, let’s get you farther from the office. Out of sight, out of mind.” She set off down the steps, and he followed her somewhat reluctantly. 

“Are the edits to your book chapter coming along well?” he asked. 

“Nice try,” she said cheerfully. “We’re not talking about work right now.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because you need a break from it,” she said. “A real break, not just an out-of-the-office break.”

He sighed. “You are being extremely stubborn about this.”

“I know,” she said. “But believe me, it’s for your own good.”

He looked at her more carefully. Her expression was serious once more, and a little bit sad.

“You are speaking from experience somehow when you say this,” he said slowly. “That it is for my own good.”

She was quiet for a moment, then gave him a smile that was tinted with melancholy. “You saw on my CV that it took me five years to finish my Bachelor’s degree, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded and ran her fingers through her hair. “When I first started my undergrad, I was really intense about it,” she said. “I was one of the few people in my clan to get a scholarship, and I really wanted to succeed. So when I got to Kirkwall, I basically studied all the time, non-stop. I did my readings and my assignments way ahead of time, read every single suggested article and book even if they weren’t compulsory, went to all of my professors’ office hours and made sure I had really good questions to ask them so they’d know who I was and hire me to work or volunteer in their labs.”

“I fail to see the problem here,” he said cautiously. “It sounds like you were an ideal student.”

She nodded. “I was. I had a near-perfect GPA, and all my professors knew me. So I thought it didn’t matter that I was barely sleeping or that I was losing a lot of weight or that I hadn’t made any friends.”

His gut twisted, but she was still talking. “In second year, I took on two volunteer positions in research labs and a part-time job as a receptionist at our dorm. That was on top of a full courseload.” She smiled crookedly. “I wasn’t sleeping well. Like, at all, really. So I started taking over-the-counter sleeping pills, but they made me groggy, so I decided not to bother getting a good night’s sleep anymore and just started drinking a lot of energy drinks. Four per day, sometimes more.”

“Ah,” he said faintly.

She chuckled. “I know. It was bad. Halfway through the semester of third year, I fainted in the middle of a lecture. They called an ambulance and took me to the emergency room, and it turned out that I was dehydrated and a little malnourished and there was even some, like, mild kidney stuff.”

“Kidney stuff?” he said sharply.

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’s okay, it’s not a big deal, it’s totally resolved with no harm done. But yeah, it was pretty bad.”

He gazed at her with growing horror. How was she able to talk about this so casually?

Something especially terrible occurred to him. Had she been alone during all of this? Where was her family? Then he realized with another pang that he knew nothing about Athera’s family. Perhaps she didn’t have one. Was she an orphan like Solas?

He swallowed hard. “Did no one realize how dire the situation was?” he asked. “If you were malnourished…”

“Nare did,” Athera said. “She begged me to slow down and to take it easy, to eat more and sleep more, but I wouldn’t listen to her. And Tamaris wasn’t in Kirkwall at the time. She was back with our clan dealing with… well, that’s her business.” She let out a nervous little laugh. “Knowing her, she probably would have dragged me to the hospital if she’d been around, but she wasn’t. So no, I… I kind of hit rock bottom, I guess, and I ended up in the hospital.”

“And your… your family?” he said tentatively. “Where… were they not aware?” 

She waved her hand again. “My parents were back at the reserve. They knew nothing about this, because I didn’t tell them. As far as they knew, I was doing super well.” She smiled faintly. “They were so proud of me. I couldn’t tell them what was really going on, you know? I didn’t want to worry them.”

Her tone was wry. Abelas inhaled slowly through the ache in his chest. “What happened then?” he asked.

“I went home a couple days later, when my kidneys were okay,” she said. “They basically told me what Nare had been saying: to eat more, to sleep more, drink more fluids. But I just went right back to working too hard and not sleeping enough until I…” She made another little face. “I ended up in the hospital again. But this time it was in a psych ward.”

“A psychiatric ward?” he said faintly.

She nodded. “Anxiety. And sort of like, obsessive-compulsive tendencies relating to the anxiety, but not actual OCD. But yeah, I was basically there for anxiety. I stayed there for a couple of weeks.”

Abelas stared at her. It felt like he had been punched in the chest. “I am… _ir abelas,_ ” he rasped. “Athera…”

“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “Honestly, please don’t feel bad. I’m doing so much better now. I ended up taking a year off of school, hence the five-year degree. I had therapy for a long time with a psychotherapist and with our clan’s healer, and I’m on meds that work really well for me and I still check in with our healer every couple of months.” She gave him a frank look. “But the most important thing I learned from all of that was that it’s really, _really_ important to keep a balance. It’s so important. That’s not to say it’s the only reason I ended up in the hospital — like, I know that mental health problems are partly genetic too, so it’s not like the same thing would happen to anyone who works so hard. And it’s not like…” She trailed off and ran her fingers through her hair, and when she looked up at him once more, her somber expression made his heart twist. 

“I’m not saying I think this will happen to you,” she said. “But sometimes when I see how much you work and how stressed you are, I just…” She shrugged. “Working hard like I did, being so tough on myself and taking on so many things at once? That’s what triggered it. It was like the straw that broke the halla’s back. So now I work hard, but I play hard too.” She smiled, and there was a hint of humour in the curl of her lips. “And I always take a break for lunch.”

He gazed at her with an ache in his chest, unsure of what to say. To know everything she had been through, fighting both physical and mental illness followed by a full year of recuperation, then finishing her degree and rising to be the professional woman she was today — this professional, enthusiastic, beautiful young woman… 

_She is a warrior,_ he thought. Abelas might be the soldier, the one who had been in the military, but between the two of them, Athera was the real warrior here. 

She chuckled and elbowed him gently. “Come on, finish your nutrition shake and let’s get some ice cream. My treat.” 

“I am proud of you,” he blurted.

She blinked. “Huh?”

He faltered. Did that sound condescending? He hoped it didn’t sound condescending. “I don’t mean to patronize you,” he said. “I mean this genuinely. You overcame great obstacles to be where you are today. You should be proud of all that you’ve achieved.”

Her face lifted into a breathtaking smile. “That’s… Abelas, that’s really sweet of you to say. And yes, I am really proud of myself. It was a hard lesson — gods, a really shitty lesson.” She laughed softly. “But it was important, and if anything, I’m glad that I know the importance of balance now, you know?”

He nodded and pondered her story as he followed her to a nearby ice cream shop. She ordered a small bowl of strawberry ice cream, then smiled up at him. “What are you having?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t eat ice cream.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why? Oh shoot, because it’s bad for you, right?”

He nodded, and she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Well, what about frozen yogurt? Their frozen yogurt is just as good here.”

“Frozen yogurt typically contains just as much sugar as ice cream,” he told her. “Sometimes more.”

She chuckled. “All right, suit yourself.” She took the bowl of ice cream that the clerk was handing her, then held it gingerly in one hand while she tried to get her wallet from her purse.

Abelas held up one hand. “Allow me,” he said, and he swiftly paid for her ice cream.

She tilted her head chidingly as they left the shop. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said. “It is no bother.”

She smiled at him. “Well, thank you.” Then her smile grew mischievous once more. “Are you going to expense that to the department?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Of course not.”

“It’s a fair question,” she said. “You expensed it to the department every other time we went out at lunchtime.”

“Those were legitimate collegial meals,” he retorted.

She chuckled. “I know, I know. I’m just teasing you.” She popped a dainty spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, and he surreptitiously watched as she ate — and, oddly enough, as her cheeks began to turn faintly pink.

She shot him a sideways glance. “So, um… if this isn’t a collegial outing, then…”

His stomach swooped as though he’d missed a step. He shot her a furtive little look. “Then what?” he said.

“Is this, um…” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Does that mean we’re…” 

He waited with a churning gut for her to finish her sentence. What _did_ this mean? What did she think it meant? Was she hoping it was the same thing as he — that this was perhaps a prelude to something romantic? 

Was she going to ask if they were dating?

“...friends?” she said. 

He stared at her. Her eyes were wide and guileless and lovely, and her shiny chestnut hair was blowing in the fresh fall breeze. She was strong and smart and she shared his interests, and he admired her a great deal.

And she wanted to be friends. 

A cold lump of disappointment dropped into his gut, but he steeled himself against it. _It doesn’t matter,_ he thought. He was too busy with work for anything romantic, anyway. 

“Yes,” he said. “We are friends.” 

She gazed at him for a second longer, then smiled and nodded. “Okay. Good. That’s — that’s great! Well, it’ll be my treat then the next time we go out at lunchtime.” 

He nodded and tried not to feel too melancholy as they made their way along the street. Athera ate another little bite of ice cream and smiled up at him. “So! You know my life story now. What about you? How did you decide you wanted to do your undergrad and at the same time as your military service?”

He shrugged. “There is little to tell. The Arlathani government offers partial tuition to soldiers who serve more than the required service period — when conscription was still active, that is,” he added. “Conscription no longer exists, however, so that funding was cut as well.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Was it common for soldiers to stay longer and do their degrees, then?”

“I believe that was the government’s hope,” he said. “That the scholarly funding would be an incentive for soldiers to serve a longer period.” He quickly finished his nutrition shake, then placed the empty bottle in his messenger bag. “I cannot say whether it worked out that way in practice, but… for me, that was not the reason I stayed in the military.”

“You mentioned that before,” she said softly. “You said it was your duty to serve.”

“Yes, that is correct,” he said. “It was just fortunate that I was also able to study literature during that time. Between the government’s funding and the scholarships that Solas helped me to win, the better part of my degree was entirely funded.”

She tilted her head. “You really love literature and poetry, don’t you?”

He blinked. “I… what made you ask that?”

She shrugged. “I just… it’s true, isn’t it? That’s your real passion. You were a loyal soldier, but you really loved studying literature.”

“That is true, yes,” he said, a little suspiciously.

She chuckled. “I’m not criticizing you, I promise. I think it’s great that you love literature so much. It’s like a great surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“Yeah,” she said. “No one would expect it of you. They think you’re this big tough guy, but you have this love of literature and romance novels…”

He grunted. “I do not love romance novels in general. I am fond of a few select novels that exemplify the romantic genre.”

“So you love romance novels as long as they’re good?” she said shrewdly.

He frowned at her, slightly annoyed now. “As opposed to what? Bad ones?”

“Yeah!” she said. “You know, penny dreadfuls. Smutty junk novels you can find at the pharmacy, that kind of thing.”

“Of course I don’t enjoy those,” he said scathingly. “Nobody with a critical mind enjoys those.”

“I do,” Athera said brightly.

He stared at her. “You do?”

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, they’re not my favourite, but I like some of them.” She lifted her chin and gave him a challenging look. “And I’m proud of it, so there.”

Her cheeks were slightly pink but her expression was confident. He gazed at her in surprise for a moment, then gathered his wits. “I stand corrected, then.”

“About what?” she said with a little smile. “That people with critical minds can’t enjoy smutty literature?”

“No,” he said. “That you have a critical mind.”

She grinned at him, then burst out laughing, and the sound of her laughter pulsed warmly through his chest. “All right, I see how it is,” she chortled. “I guess I won’t be making any book recommendations to you after all.”

“That is fortunate for me, it seems,” he said dryly. 

She chuckled and lightly smacked his arm, and he smiled faintly — followed immediately by a thud of disappointment as he remembered that this was entirely platonic. 

She pointed with her spoon at a small and cozy-looking bookstore-slash-café. “There, that’s the bookstore. I know we don’t have long, but do you want to nip inside quickly?”

He checked his watch. Based on their distance from the arts building where his one o’clock class was, they could step into the bookstore for about fifteen minutes. 

He nodded. “All right. But you must finish your ice cream first.” He gestured at a sign in the window proclaiming that no outside food was permitted.

“Oh shoot, you’re right.” She quickly ate a bite of ice cream, then looked up at him. “You should have the last bite.”

He recoiled slightly. “Me? For what reason?”

“Because it’s good,” she said. “And the last bite is lucky.”

He lifted one eyebrow. “You’re relying on foolish superstition to persuade me?”

“Sure, if it works,” she said with a grin. She tilted her head. “Seriously though, do you want to try it? Just one little taste?” 

He eyed her bowl for a moment. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure that a single taste would be enough.

He eyed her for a moment longer, then gave in. “All right. I will have the last bite.”

“Great!” she said, and to his surprise, she lifted the spoon toward him as though to feed him — just as she might do if he was her lover.

His heart seized. Without thinking, he opened his mouth for her spoon, and for the first time in years, a bite of ice cream passed his lips. 

Athera gently took the spoon back and smiled at him. “It’s great, right? Homemade with real strawberry purée.”

He didn’t answer. He could barely think. The tang of strawberries and sweetness was spreading across his tongue and filling his mouth, and his heart was pounding in his ears. 

Athera’s cheeks suddenly turned red. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh no, did I — I shouldn’t have fed you, should I? Was that inappropriate? Is this like another dumpling thing?” She took a step back from him. “Shit, I’m sorry—” 

Before he could think about it, he reached out and grasped her wrist. “Athera,” he said.

She stared up at him with her huge grey eyes. “Yes?” she squeaked.

Her wrist was so delicate in his grip. For some reason, the delicacy of her wrist in his fingers made a bloom of painful yearning open wide in his chest. “Do not… you need not be so concerned about what is appropriate with me,” he said. 

“Why… what do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

He gazed at her tensely, already regretting having said anything. In truth, he was terribly confused. Athera had said they were friends, but then she’d fed him from her own spoon: an incredibly intimate gesture, or at least it was to Abelas. 

But maybe such an act was of little consequence for people who weren’t from Arlathan. Maybe he was making too much of this. Then again, the look on Athera’s face, the pinkness of her cheeks: if he didn’t know better, he would have thought she was feeling the same way as he. 

But that was the problem. He _didn’t_ know better. It had been years since he had dated anyone, and he had never dated anyone who wasn’t from home, or anyone who was quite so young. Not that Athera was _too_ young, that wasn’t what he meant at all, but – _fenedhis_ , the way younger people did things sometimes, jumping into things so quickly and thoughtlessly? It was utterly beyond him. Not that younger people were the only ones to be impulsive and rash, but… spirits save him, he was confused.

Overwhelmed by his own doubts, he released her wrist. “We abide by different cultural norms,” he finally said. “I will not be offended by your behaviour.”

She dropped his gaze. “Oh. Yeah, that’s true. Um, yeah, okay.” She nibbled her lower lip, then shot him a little smile. “Ready to go in?” 

He nodded and followed her inside, feeling more conflicted than ever. Athera chatted easily with him as they moved around the bookstore, showing him some of her favourite common-tongue books, and he nodded and dutifully looked at the books she showed him, but truthfully, he was too preoccupied by his own muddled feelings to be particularly conversational.

When the time came for Abelas to return to campus for his lecture, he gently touched her elbow. “I must be going,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll go with you,” she said easily, and they left the bookstore. 

As they headed back toward campus, she gave him a thoughtful look. “You know what, this just occurred to me. I don’t know what a _felan’asahngar_ flower looks like.”

He gazed at her in surprise. “You don’t…? Ah. I suppose you couldn’t, not knowing the common-tongue term for it.”

“Do _you_ know the common-tongue name for it?” she asked. 

He raised his eyebrows. “No, actually,” he said slowly. “I had no reason to think of this until now.”

She chuckled. “I should try and figure it out. I’m curious about what makes it so special.”

“It is a beautiful flower,” he assured her. “Very unusual. And it is a cultivar — it doesn’t grow naturally in the wild.”

Her eyes widened with interest. “It sounds like an orchid.”

“It is a variety of orchid, yes,” Abelas said, pleased that she had guessed this based on his description alone. “The colouring is distinct — gold and pomegranate, with dappling on the… er…” He trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I lack the vocabulary to adequately describe it,” he admitted. “But it is a beautiful plant.”

“I can only imagine, literally,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I find out what the common-tongue word is.”

He frowned. “How will you find out what the common-tongue word is if you only know the Elvhen word and you don’t know what it looks like?”

Her face went blank for a second. Then she barked out a laugh. “I honestly don’t know. But I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it my task for our next translation lunch.”

“Our next translation lunch?” he said dryly. “I thought we were forbidden from discussing work-related things during this outing.”

She smiled slowly at him, then chuckled softly. “You really are a funny one sometimes, you know.”

He huffed. “You have a low threshold for humour.”

She grinned and poked his arm. “Excuse me! I have a totally normal threshold for humour. If something’s funny, I laugh.”

“And yet I can imagine you laughing if someone were to slip on a banana peel,” he replied.

She snorted a laugh. “I mean, listen, if that happened in real life, you would laugh too.”

He smiled faintly at her. They continued to chat as they headed toward campus, and by the time they reached the intersection that meant they would have to part ways, he was feeling rather wistful at the idea of parting from her.

She smiled at him. “Okay, I’ll see you later, then.”

“You might not,” he said. “Solas and I have a meeting at two-thirty that may take some time, in which case I will not see you before you leave for the day.”

“Oh, okay. Well…” She scuffed her booted toe idly on the ground, then glanced up at him. “If I don’t see you later, then have a good weekend.”

He nodded politely. “You as well, Athera.”

She nodded as well, then pointed playfully at him. “Don’t work too hard. Or even better, don’t work at all.”

His belly twisted slightly. There was no way he would get away with doing no work this weekend; he had far too much to do. But he suspected that Athera’s story would be lingering at the front of his mind this weekend while he sat at the desk in his home office. 

“I will consider what you have told me today,” he said seriously. “I mean that genuinely.”

Her playful expression softened, and she tucked her hair behind her ear before shooting him a sideways look. “I feel like I’m always going on and on about myself when we spend time together. You’ll have to tell me more about yourself next time we go out for lunch. For a friendly lunch, I mean,” she added. “Not a collegial lunch.”

His heart sank a little. There it was again: her use of the word ‘friend’ to refer to herself and him. 

He nodded and took a step back. “Perhaps. Have a good afternoon.” With some regret, he turned away from her and headed for the art building.

His heart felt heavy as he made his way to his class. Athera must really see him as a platonic companion if she kept calling him a friend… and yet, her actions seemed to indicate otherwise. But words were just as important as actions, were they not? And what about physiological responses? She blushed a great deal when she was in his presence — more than with anyone else in the lab, he’d noticed. That was a fact that couldn’t be discounted in all of this. 

But if Athera _did_ have feelings for him — something he was still not certain of — why had she not said anything? 

_Ask yourself the same question,_ he scolded himself. There was a very simple way to clear up these misunderstandings: tell Athera he was fond of her, and ask if she felt the same. But for some reason, Abelas found himself balking at the notion of doing this. All of his other relationships had begun that way: with Abelas openly expressing his interest and inviting the woman he liked on a date. And all of his other relationships had eventually ended when the women discovered that he was not… what they seemed to be looking for.

Athera was different. She actually seemed to _enjoy_ talking to him, considering that talking was all they did when they were together. She was different, and she treated him differently than other women did. 

For Athera, Abelas wanted to take an approach that was different. An approach that was perhaps a little more… romantic. 

He just wished he knew whether he should even bother.

He sighed as he stepped into the arts building. It seemed that it was time to do the thing he had been trying to avoid.

It was time to enlist some help from Felassan. 

****************************************

Later that night, after Abelas had worked out and eaten and showered, he sat on his couch with a sigh and picked up his phone. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but he really didn’t feel that he had any further recourse.

He tapped open his messaging app and composed a text.

_Abelas Fri Oct 2 21:07  
I have need of your assistance._

_Felassan 21:09  
Is it work-related or fun-related?_

Abelas pursed his lips before replying.

 _Abelas 21:09  
It is in relation to the conundrum you said you would assist me with last week._

 __

__

_Felassan 21:09  
Excellent. I’m in the mood for a good gossip. Let me pause my game and I’ll call you in a minute._

 _I regret this already,_ Abelas thought. But it was too late now to rescind his request.

A few minutes later, his phone rang. He irritably picked it up. “You said you would call in a minute. I was waiting.”

“Sorry,” Felassan said. He didn’t sound remotely so. “I was wrapping up a sidequest. How can I be of service?” 

Abelas rubbed his forehead. “If I were to outline a scenario for you, I would appreciate it if you could… interpret what you feel the meaning of the scenario to be.”

“You want to tell me what Athera said and did so I can tell you what she meant,” Felassan said blithely. “Let’s hear it, then.” A crunching sound travelled through the phone, and Abelas recoiled for a moment before bringing his phone back to his ear.

“Are you eating?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Felassan said. “I forgot to eat earlier.”

“This is impolite,” Abelas scolded.

Felassan tutted. “Well, I would offer you some, but you’re not here. Go on then, let’s hear what happened.” More munching sounds ensued, and Abelas closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

He sighed and switched to Elvhen for comfort. “ _What would it mean to you if someone kept serving food to you before serving themselves? During a one-on-one meal, I should say._ ” 

He could hear the smile in Felassan’s voice when he replied. “ _It would mean the same thing to me as it does to you. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that Athera sees it that way_.”

Abelas wilted. He had been fearful of this. But Felassan was still talking. “ _That also doesn’t mean she would be unhappy about you interpreting things the way you are, though_.”

Abelas frowned. What did _that_ mean?

“ _Did something specific happen?_ ” Felassan asked. “ _More details, please._ ” Further crunching sounds followed, and Abelas did his best to ignore the noise. 

“ _We went out at noon today,_ ” he said. “ _We spoke at length about various things, and at one point, she asked if we were friends._ ”

“ _And what did you say?_ ”

“ _I said that yes, we were._ ”

There was a brief silence. Then Felassan spoke in a brisk tone. “ _All right, tell me exactly what the context was._ ”

Abelas rubbed his forehead. “ _The previous times when we left the office for lunch, the lunches were work-related,_ ” he said. “ _This time it was not, and thus she asked if meant we were friends, since we were out of the office on a non-work-related outing._ ”

Felassan paused for a beat before responding. “ _She may have been hoping that you would indicate that you are more than just friends._ ”

“ _Fenedhis,_ ” Abelas muttered. Why hadn’t he realized that was the case? Why hadn’t she been more clear?

A soft munching sound preceded Felassan’s next question. “ _Did she seem disappointed when you said you were friends?_ ”

“ _Perhaps,_ ” Abelas said reluctantly. “ _But it is difficult to tell what she is thinking at times._ ”

“ _Really?_ ” Felassan said. “ _She seems pretty easy to read to me._ ”

Abelas bristled at this. “ _What do you mean?_ ”

“ _She blushes a lot,_ ” Felassan said. “ _I feel a bit sorry for her, actually. Makes it impossible for her to hide anything._ ”

Abelas eagerly pounced on this information. “ _The blushing is significant, then? I suspected that was the case._ ”

“ _Mm,_ ” Felassan agreed. “ _Have you noticed when she seems to blush the most?_ ”

“ _She blushes a great deal when we are together,_ ” Abelas said tentatively.

Felassan made another affirmative noise. “ _Sounds significant to me._ ”

Abelas sat back, feeling pleased by this. But then something occurred to him. If Felassan knew that Athera blushed frequently… 

“ _Does she blush around you?_ ” he asked, perhaps a bit too aggressively.

“ _When I mention you, yes,_ ” Felassan said drolly.

His heart did a little flip, and he relaxed slightly. “ _There is – there was one more thing,_ ” he said. “ _She…_ ” Then he trailed off, uncertain if he should tell Felassan the other significant thing that had happened. It felt a bit personal, considering what the gesture usually meant back home in Arlathan.

“ _Take your time,_ ” Felassan said. His tone was softer now: no longer curled with his usual humour, but gentle in a way that was almost reminiscent of Solas.

This prompted Abelas to speak. “ _She had ice cream today when we were out, and–_ ”

“ _Don’t tell me you ate ice cream,_ ” Felassan exclaimed. “ _I might faint from the shock._ ”

Abelas scowled. “ _No, I didn’t,_ ” he said stiffly. “ _Or – that is, er…_ ” He ran a hand over his braided hair. “ _She fed me a spoonful of her ice cream._ ”

“ _She fed you?_ ” Felassan said. “ _As in, she put the spoon in your mouth?_ ”

He sounded faintly incredulous, and Abelas instantly felt better for having been so thrown off by this. “ _It seems forward, no?_ ” he said.

“ _Maybe,_ ” Felassan said slowly. “ _Then what happened?_ ”

“ _She immediately apologized for being inappropriate._ ”

“ _And what did you say?_ ”

“ _I told her that she doesn’t need to constantly apologize for her behaviour as we were raised in different cultures with different norms._ ” 

There was a moment of silence. Then Felassan started laughing.

“ _Don’t laugh,_ ” Abelas complained. “ _You are being unkind._ ”

“ _I’m sorry,_ ” Felassan chortled. “ _I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. Go on, what happened after that?_ ”

“ _Nothing of great note,_ ” Abelas said resentfully. “ _We went to a bookshop. Then she walked with me halfway to my one o’clock class, and we parted ways. I have not seen her since._ ”

“ _Mm,_ ” Felassan murmured, and he said nothing more.

Abelas tapped his fingers impatiently on his knee. “ _Well? What are your thoughts on all of this?_ ”

Felassan was silent for a long moment, not even crunching anymore, and for some reason this made Abelas feel more unnerved than the chewing. When he finally spoke again, his tone was thoughtful. “ _You haven’t been this way before about other women._ ”

“ _Other women were not like Athera,_ ” Abelas said.

Felassan chuckled softly. “ _I know the feeling._ ”

“ _Then you should understand my trepidation with this_ ,” Abelas said. “ _I have had little romantic success in the past._ ”

“ _I wouldn’t go that far,_ ” Felassan said. “ _You’re making yourself sound like a failure._ ”

“ _What else would you call it when every relationship you have ever attempted was ended by your partner?_ ” Abelas retorted. Then he immediately regretted saying something so personal. 

Felassan was silent for a moment longer, and Abelas was so uncomfortable that he considered simply ending the call. Then Felassan spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “ _You know what your problem is?_ ”

“ _Allow me to guess,_ ” Abelas said scathingly. “ _I am a boring, uptight workaholic._ ”

“ _That’s not what I was going to say,_ ” Felassan said seriously. “ _But I find it interesting that those are the first words you thought of._ ”

Abelas gritted his teeth in frustration, then forced himself to breathe calmly. “ _Fine then,_ ” he said tightly. “ _Explain to me what my problem is._ ”

“ _You’re too good-looking,_ ” Felassan said.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Abelas said stupidly. This was not at all what he’d expected to hear. 

“ _You’re too handsome,_ ” Felassan said. “ _The height, the muscles, the glossy hair: it’s confusing to the people you date. They expect you to be a sexual powerhouse and they’re disappointed when they discover that you’re a raging intellectual._ ”

“ _Are you insulting me or complimenting me?_ ” Abelas said in genuine confusion.

“ _Neither,_ ” Felassan said. “ _I’m just stating a fact. That is why you keep getting dumped, isn’t it? They lose interest after the sex starts to peter out._ ”

Abelas’s gut twisted as though he’d been punched. Unfortunately, Felassan was right. The typical course for Abelas’s relationships went like this: he asked a woman on a date. She made an advance on him by the second or third date, and he had no reason to refuse. They continued to see each other, but his partner seemed more interested in having sex with him than talking to him, which eventually became disheartening enough that he returned his attention to his work. At which point he was soundly dumped once more.

He didn’t bother to ask how Felassan knew this. Felassan had always had a rather annoying habit of knowing things that he hadn’t been told. 

He narrowed his eyes. “ _This is feeling increasingly like a personal attack._ ”

“ _I assure you, it’s not,_ ” Felassan said. “ _I’m just taking advantage of the fact that you’re actually talking about personal things for once instead of acting like an emotionless wall._ ”

“ _I am not an emotionless wall!_ ” he snapped.

“ _I know that, Abelas,_ ” Felassan drawled. “ _Which brings me to my next point. Why don’t you just tell Athera that you like her and ask her out?_ ”

Abelas pursed his lips in annoyance, then sat back on the couch. “ _There is a saying by Dhaveira: ‘perseverance is the seed of success. But when the seed fails to bloom, it is time to reconsider your soil.’_ ”

Felassan was quiet for a moment. Then there was a loud crunch that made Abelas jump. “ _All right, so the direct approach hasn’t worked out in the past and you want to try something new. What did you have in mind?_ ”

Abelas hesitated, then lowered his voice although he was alone. “ _Do not tell anyone I revealed this to you,_ ” he warned.

“ _I’ll take it to my grave,_ ” Felassan said somberly. 

Abelas pursed his lips but decided to ignore the hint of mockery this time. “ _Athera said I am romantic,_ ” he said quietly. A fluttering feeling of warmth rose in his chest as he remembered her saying this. No one had ever found him to be romantic before. 

“ _Did she now?_ ” Felassan said.

Abelas narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t hear any laughter in Felassan’s tone. “ _Yes,_ ” he said. “ _So I thought perhaps I would try wooing her the old way_.”

Felassan didn’t reply right away, and Abelas’s nerves wouldn’t allow him to tolerate the wait. “ _You disapprove of this course of action?_ ” he said stiffly.

“ _No,_ ” Felassan said. “ _Not at all. I… honestly, I think the logic of this plan is sound._ ”

His tone was warm, and Abelas relaxed. “ _The logic is sound? That is good, then._ ”

“ _Yes. I like the idea,_ ” Felassan assured him. “ _It’s not what I would do, necessarily, but I think that’s the point._ ”

Abelas nodded, and Felassan went on. “ _Do you know what you might do first to try and win her over?_ ”

Abelas thought for a moment. One of the early-courtship traditions he had always liked in classic romantic literature was the idea of giving a small but thoughtful gift to the object of one’s affection to indicate interest, so perhaps he could give Athera a small gift. But what kind of gift—?

A flash of inspiration made him sit up straight. He knew exactly what he could give Athera to indicate his interest in her. It would tie into the conversation they’d had today, and it would also tie back to the romance novel he’d lent to her. It was a perfect idea.

“ _Yes,_ ” he said firmly. “ _I know what I will do. Thank you, Felassan. This has been exceedingly helpful._ ”

“Anytime,” Felassan said in the common tongue, and another crisp _crunch_ came through the phone. 

Abelas wilted slightly. “What in the Dread Wolf’s name are you eating?”

“Taro chips,” Felassan said.

“Taro chips?”

“Yes,” he said. “They’re Dalish. Tamaris got me hooked on them. Apparently the Dalish have all kinds of snacks with medicinal properties. Dried herbs and berries and bark you can chew to ease headaches, things like that.”

Abelas raised his eyebrows. “Are you having a headache?”

“Oh, no,” Felassan said casually. “These are just a snack.”

“I see,” Abelas said in bemusement. “Well then, I will let you return to your video game.”

“All right,” Felassan said. “Have a good night.”

“You as well,” Abelas said. “And thank you again, _lethallin._ Truly.”

“You’re welcome,” Felassan said warmly. “ _On nydha._ ”

“ _On nydha,_ ” Abelas said, and he ended the call.

He placed his phone on the coffee table and smiled to himself, feeling more confident now than he had in weeks. He was very pleased with his gift idea — so pleased that he would even brave the crowds at the mall tomorrow to find what he was looking for. 

He stood up from the couch and headed for his home office. He would get some work done now in order to free up the time tomorrow to go shopping. With any luck, it wouldn’t take too long to find what he was looking for, but even if it did end up taking the whole morning to find, Abelas didn’t mind. 

If Athera liked his gift, it would be well worth a morning’s search.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms, borrowed or composed from FenxShiral’s excellent resources:  
> \- _Elgar’em shala’em_ : a mild curse meaning ‘spirits save me’. Similar to ‘for goodness’s sake.’  
> \- _Felan’asahngar:_ literally ‘lucky plant’. I lazily ripped off the meaning of this one from one of my other fics, [Where The Winds of Fortune Take Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18862420/chapters/44769256) (FenHawke & Cullen/Lavellan pirate AU).  
> \- _On nydha_ : goodnight. 
> 
> Next up: Tamaris POV, featuring a trip to the mall with Felassan and the girls, and some unexpected run-ins. Yes, this is what the next few chapters will involve: a trip to the mall. I don’t know what it says about this year that a shopping trip seems like an idyllic fantasy, but here we are. 🙃😂
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your wonderful artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	27. Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, all! Saturday morning shopping trip for a Saturday morning! 😂

###  TAMARIS 

Athera wandered slowly among the racks of clothes, then stopped in front of a sharply tailored red dress with a narrow belt. “Ooh, what about this one?”

Tamaris wrinkled her nose. “That’s not even Nare’s style.”

“But look how pretty it is,” Athera cooed. She lifted the dress from the rack and held it up in front of herself. “It would look so nice on her.”

Tamaris huffed, then glanced over her shoulder. “Nare,” she called out.

A few racks away, Nare looked up. “Yeah?”

Tamaris took the dress from Athera and held it up. “Would you wear this?”

“No,” Nare said. 

Tamaris gave the dress back to Athera with a pointed look, and Athera sighed. “I’m so bad at picking out things Nare likes.”

“It’s easy,” Tamaris said. “Just imagine what a hot modern forest witch would wear, and that’s Nare.”

Athera slumped in exasperation. A few paces away from them, Felassan chuckled. 

Tamaris glanced at him. “What’s so funny?”

“A hot modern forest witch?” he said. “What does that look like?”

Athera gestured emphatically at him. “Thank you! Exactly my point!”

“Oh come on,” Tamaris scolded. “Use your imaginations. It’s like… drapey fabrics and brown leather accessories and big hoods and all that shit.”

Felassan tilted his head thoughtfully. “What about a belt with multiple pouches for carrying magic powders? Necklaces with pendants that are actually tiny vials filled with creatures’ blood?”

Athera laughed, and Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just going over the top.”

“You have only yourself to blame,” he said. “You gave me a concept, I’m going to run with it. Shoes, now: what kind of footwear would a modern forest witch wear?”

“What about foot wraps?” Athera piped in.

Felassan snapped his fingers. “Of course. To feel the grass beneath her witchy feet.”

Athera giggled, and Tamaris shot her an exasperated look. “I thought you didn’t know what a modern forest witch was supposed to look like.”

“I get it now that you guys explained it,” she replied.

“ _I_ explained it,” Tamaris retorted. “ _He_ took it too far.”

Felassan and Athera laughed, and Nare wandered over with a couple of red dresses draped over her arm. “What did I miss?”

“We’re discussing your aesthetic,” Felassan said. “Tamaris has decreed you to be a hot modern forest witch.”

“A _hot_ modern forest witch?” She batted her eyelashes at Tamaris. “Aw, Tam, you’ll make me blush.”

“Uh-huh,” Tamaris said dryly. She jerked her chin at the dresses on Nare’s arm. “Have you tried those yet?”

“Not yet,” Nare said. Her smile faded as she glanced at the dresses. “I don’t know, maybe I won’t like them.”

“Let’s see?” Athera said.

Nare held up the two dresses, and Athera ran her fingers over one of the dresses. “This one looks a lot like the one you already have.”

Nare wilted a bit. “I know. That’s why I was thinking maybe I shouldn’t bother trying it.”

Tamaris frowned. “Why are you trying to replace the dress you already have if you like it so much?”

Nare shrugged. “Just for something different. Everyone’s already seen that dress.”

“What do you mean?” Athera said. “You’ve only worn it twice since we moved here.”

Nare shrugged again. “Yeah, I know…”

Tamaris hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe you could just get some different accessories to go with it instead of replacing it.”

“That’s a good idea!” Athera enthused. “Like a cute scarf and some different booties?”

“Maybe,” Nare said. 

Felassan held up one hand. “I have a question.”

Nare turned to him. “Mhmm?”

“Why are you seeking a red dress?”

She raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Why red?” he said. “You’re a redhead. Your hair is a pretty saturated shade of orange — closer to red than the average redhead. Why wouldn’t you pick a dress that’s blue or blue-green? Something that complements your hair colour better?”

She grinned at him. “You think I should pick a dress based on colour theory?”

“Why not?” he said. “It will make for a better contrast.”

Nare laughed, and Athera tutted and elbowed him. “The contrast isn’t the point. Red is the colour of confidence!”

“Yeah, red is a sexy colour,” Tamaris said. “She’s looking for a sexy date dress.”

“Exactly,” Athera said.

Nare twisted her lips thoughtfully. “He’s not wrong, though.” To Felassan she said, “I actually prefer blues and greens.”

He bowed his head politely, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “You don’t wear that much blue, though,” she said to Nare.

Nare perked up. “So maybe I should purposely get a blue dress for special occasions, since I don’t wear it that often.”

Felassan shrugged. “Sounds reasonable enough to me.”

Nare smiled at him, and Athera looped her arm through Nare’s elbow. “Let’s go look at some blue dresses, then!” she chirped. She gave Felassan a cheeky look. “I guess you’re not totally useless on this outing after all.”

He grinned and pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch. That wounds me.”

“Serves you right,” Athera said primly.

Felassan chuckled. “Still mad about my extremely clever jest regarding the petit fours, I see.”

Tamaris and Nare exchanged a quick smile as Athera huffed. “It wasn’t clever at all,” she said haughtily. She turned away and pulled Nare along with her toward the other end of the store. 

Felassan smiled at Tamaris, and she huffed in amusement. “Complementary colours. You’re such an artist.”

“So are you, _avise_ ,” he said. He draped his arm around her shoulders, and she secretly enjoyed the solid warmth of his side pressed to hers as they followed Nare and Athera through the store.

“So,” she said. “Are you bored yet?”

He smirked. “How many times are you going to ask me that?”

She clicked her tongue. “I’ve only asked you once since we got here.”

“We only got here about thirty minutes ago,” he pointed out.

“Fine, I’ll stop asking,” she grumbled.

“No no,” he said. “By all means, keep going. I’ll start keeping count if you like.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s stupid.”

“Yet you’re the one who keeps asking the same stupid question,” he said.

She tried to give him a dirty look, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling back at his shit-eating grin. She playfully pushed at his abs. “You’re such a fucking brat.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her temple, and they scuffled playfully as they caught up to the girls.

Nare tried on a few dresses, but she didn’t love any of them. Fifteen minutes later, they left the store empty-handed. Athera looked askance at Nare. “Where to next? Do you wanna try Saphi’s?” 

“Mm… no, not yet,” she said. “I kind of want a break from dresses. Let’s go to Teia’s Secret.”

“Teia’s Secret?” Athera said in surprise. Tamaris was a little surprised too; Teia’s Secret was one of the nicer lingerie stores.

“Yeah,” Nare said. “I want some cute underwear. I’m bored of wearing practical stuff.”

Tamaris smirked. It was on the tip of her tongue to make a lewd comment about Nare masturbating while wearing cute lingerie, but she couldn’t very well say it in front of Felassan.

Felassan took a small step back. “I think I’ll pass on coming along for that.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

“Dress shopping with a student is one thing,” he said drolly. “Shopping for lingerie with a student is a little much, even for me.”

“Oh shoot,” Athera exclaimed. “I totally forgot you were Nare’s teacher.” She laughed, and Nare started laughing too. 

“So did I,” she chuckled. “You’re like one of the girls, Felassan.”

He smirked and bowed politely. “Such high praise. I’m honoured. But I’ll wait for you three outside the store.”

“What? No,” Tamaris said. “I’ll wait with you.”

“That’s not necessary,” Felassan said. “Go with your friends.”

She tutted. “I’m not going to make you wait around on your own after inviting you to come with us.” To Nare and Athera she said, “We’ll meet you guys in a bit. Where do you want to go next?”

“Umm… Let’s try Bonny Sims next,” Nare said.

“Okay, text me,” Tamaris said. “We’ll meet you.”

Nare and Athera waved and headed to Teia’s Secret, and Felassan smiled at Tamaris as they wandered in the opposite direction. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

“I would have been fine,” he said. “I have my phone to keep me company.”

“Are you saying you’d rather look at your phone than hang out with me?” she said archly.

“I would never say such a thing,” he said. “Although I am a bit disappointed that you won’t be looking at fancy lingerie.”

“You’d like that, huh?” she drawled.

“I certainly would,” he said.

She scoffed. “So what, you want to go back later and look with me?”

He grinned. “I certainly wouldn’t complain. Would you permit me to trail around in a lingerie store with you?”

“Are you going to be making dirty comments in my ear the whole time?” she said flatly.

“Of course,” he said. “I know you’d be disappointed if I didn’t.”

“Uh-huh.” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, we’ll go back later.”

“Excellent,” he said cheerfully.

She smirked at him, then laughed helplessly at his cheeky grin. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” he said. “Strolling side-by-side on a Saturday morning with a beautiful woman: what’s not to enjoy?”

She shook her head in amusement. “You’re so full of shit.”

“Thank you, Tamaris,” he said graciously. “That’s kind of you to say.”

They wandered along idly, and Felassan tucked his hands in his pockets. “So. Has Athera–”

“Tell me about your life in Arlathan,” Tamaris said suddenly.

He grinned at her. “Well, that was blunt.”

“I know,” she admitted. “I suck at easing into topics.” In truth, she’d been waiting for a moment when she and Felassan would be alone so she could ask him about this. After they’d hung up last night, she’d spent a good chunk of time just lying in bed and wondering what was so complex about Felassan’s life that he needed to wait until today to tell her. She kept fluctuating between guilt about not asking him sooner, and anxiety about what kind of convoluted paths he’d walked that had made him the man he was now: this charming, jocular, patient, insightful man who was winding her in knots and making her want him more with every passing day. 

What kinds of things had Felassan lived through? What kinds of things had he done? Would there be any warning signs in his past that she should run the other way? If there were warning signs, how much would it hurt to tear herself away from him, now that he’d started becoming important in her life?

Her nerves ratcheted higher, rendering her somewhat irritable. “So? Are you going to tell me or what?” she demanded.

He laughed and playfully tugged a lock of her hair. “How can I resist when you ask so nicely?”

She exhaled. “Sorry. I’m being a bitch. Sorry.”

“It’s all right, _avise_ ,” he said easily. “But you’ll have to be more specific. What would you like to know?”

She shrugged and folded her arms. “I dunno. Anything. Why you think of yourself as a slow arrow, I guess.”

He chuckled again, but the sound was softer this time. “All right. Well, I told you before that I’ve followed many indirect paths before reaching my goals. In truth, my goals kept changing over the years as well: moving targets, if you will,” he said with a small smile. “When I was young, the thing I cared about more than anything was money.”

“Money? Seriously?” She was surprised by this. He had never struck her as being particularly materialistic. 

“Yes indeed,” he said. “I told you before that my family is descended from slaves. The majority of modern Arlathani society are descendants of slaves, actually. And yet, the ‘upper class’ descendants of the nobility still make up the majority of those in power in Arlathan, much the same as when slavery was still alive and well. Even to this day, it is very difficult for members of the working class to achieve the same financial or influential status as those who were descended from the old noble families.”

Tamaris frowned. “It almost sounds like there’s a caste system in place.”

“Nothing quite so formal as that,” he said. “But a stratification certainly exists between the upper class and the working class. And one of the reasons for this is that there is a very ingrained idea among the working class, carried over from the times of slavery, that if you work hard enough and put in enough effort, you will be able to work your way into the upper class.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Do you see the inherent danger of this idea?”

“Um…” She hesitated. She wasn’t totally certain what he was getting at, since this wasn’t at all the way that Dalish society functioned. “I mean, if hard work is equated with success, then I guess… not succeeding means you didn’t work hard enough?”

A rueful half-smile lifted his lips. “Exactly. If you don’t succeed, the blame for a lack of upward movement is entirely on _you_ – even if this is patently untrue. This mentality ignores the prejudiced institutions and laws that make it extremely difficult or even impossible for those of the working class to advance.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh fuck, yeah. I get what you’re saying.”

He nodded, then flashed her a grin. “Now you’re probably wondering why I’m giving you a lecture in Arlathani politics rather than telling you about myself.”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

He chuckled. “It’s because when I was young, even before I really understood what I just told you, I always thought that something seemed unfair. I saw my parents working hard every day and struggling to make ends meet, and I thought: something about this is off. Something here is unfair.” The curl of his lips became wry. “So I set about trying to fix it in my own little way.” 

She tilted her head, fully anticipating some kind of mischief. “What did you do?”

“When I was in high school, I became a bookie,” he said.

She blinked. “A what?”

“A bookie,” he said. “ A bookmaker. I took and paid off bets for various sporting events.”

“Oh, right right,” she said. Then she paused. “ _Oh_. Wait. But — isn’t that illegal in most places?”

“It is. But that didn’t deter me,” he said cheerfully. “I wanted money, and that seemed the most efficient way to make it.”

She narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know much about bookmaking, but didn’t it almost involve some accounting-level math knowledge? “How the fuck did you learn to do that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve got a knack for numbers and strategy.”

“You do?” she said in growing bemusement. “But you’re an artist.”

He grinned. “I’ve been many things in this short life of mine, _avise_.”

She stared at him dumbly, a little stunned by this odd revelation. “So… so you made money in high school by setting up an illegal gambling ring?”

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t quite illegal, since it was only within my high school,” he said. “To start, at least.”

_To start?_ she thought incredulously. So that meant his bookie business eventually went beyond small-time high school activities? 

She shook herself slightly. She’d get to that in a minute. “I… I don’t understand. How was this worth the effort? Were the kids at your high school really rich or something?”

“Ah, I forgot to mention,” he said. “My parents used most of their savings to send me to a pretentious private school – against my wishes, I might add. I was one of the few working-class kids who went there. So yes, my classmates were quite disgustingly and smugly wealthy.”

A pang of sympathy squeezed her heart. “Did they pick on you for being lower – uh, working class?”

“At first, yes,” he said. “Until I learned to be invisible.”

“To be…?” She trailed off as she remembered something odd: the way she’d almost failed to notice Felassan when she went to meet him at the Neighbour’s House for the first time — the way he blended into the crowd seamlessly despite being so handsome.

She nodded slowly. “I can see that.”

A slow smile lit his face. “You do know me well. At any rate, there I was: an unnoticed boy drifting in a sea of bored and entitled upper-class teenagers who had everything and didn’t even appreciate what they had.” He let out a dramatic little sigh. “It was all just so unfair that I had to start a gambling ring, as you so charmingly call it.”

“How did they start trusting you to manage their bets if you were just some random working-class kid?” she asked.

He smirked. “You may or may not have noticed that I can be charming when I am so inclined.”

“I might have noticed that,” she said dryly.

He bowed his head slightly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “So what, you went from being invisible to being charming?”

He smiled at her. “‘Charming’ is just a nice way of saying ‘manipulative in a way that makes the mark feel good’.”

She stared at him, then started to laugh. “So you’re openly calling yourself manipulative.”

“Oh, I was absolutely manipulative,” he said blithely. “The key to manipulating someone is knowing them well, and as I mentioned before, I am very observant. So I observed my classmates, and eventually I charmed them into paying into my little bookie business.” He shrugged. “It all went quite well for almost two years. I was making a very nice profit, giving most of the cash to my parents and pretending I had a normal job, even saving some cash for myself. The system worked very nicely until someone got angry about losing a rather large bet and ratted me out to the headmaster.”

Tamaris winced. “Oh fuck.”

“Quite,” he said. “I was suspended, and the bookmaking business fell apart.” He shrugged again. “My parents were furious. Embarrassed that I was doing something against school rules, giving them ‘dirty’ money, trying to take a shortcut through life, blah blah and so on. I got furious back that they didn’t understand why I was doing it. It was the first of many such arguments.”

His tone was casual and he was smiling, smiling with his usual easy humour, and it made something twist in Tamaris’s chest. 

She took his hand. He glanced at her briefly, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow; there was a hint of surprise in his face. 

“What?” she said.

“Nothing,” he said. He twined his fingers with hers and squeezed her hand, then continued his story. “Soon after my bookmaking business went down, the father of the boy who sold me out was arrested for embezzling at his company.”

She looked at him. His tone was still pleasant, but there was something bland about his tone that made her suspicious. 

“Did you… what are you saying?” she asked. “You had something to do with it?” 

A tiny smile curled the corners of his lips, but a chill ran down Tamaris’s spine: despite Felassan’s smile, there was something hard about his expression now. 

“I listened to the other students talking, and I read between the lines,” he said. “If they mentioned information that happened to be a detriment to their parents when it was shared with others, well…” He shrugged. 

“You sold his dad out for revenge?” she said incredulously.

He smirked at her. “Blunt as always, _avise._ ”

She continued to study him in silence, and he sighed. “If I’m honest, revenge was part of it. But it was more utilitarian than that. I was foolish not to… insure my business in the first place, so to speak. It was a mistake I never made again.” He looked her in the eye. “It was a mistake that none of the participants in my gambling ring ever made again, either.”

She gazed at him worriedly. His expression was very serious and the implicit threat in his words was clear, but all she could imagine was a lonely, angry teenage Felassan making such questionable choices. 

She nodded. “Okay.”

His eyebrows rose, and a tiny smile lifted the corner of his lips. “Do you want to hear more? It only gets more exciting from here.”

She managed a little smile, despite the faint ache in her chest. “Keep going. It’s like hearing the plot of a movie.”

He chuckled. “All right. Now, during the time that I was in high school — while I was suspended, in fact — I made a chance acquaintance while I was doing some graffiti one night.”

“Graffiti?” she said.

“Yes, graffiti.” He smirked. “Or ‘street art’, as I suppose people like to call it now.”

Her eyes widened. “You were — you’re a graffiti artist?”

“I was, a long time ago,” he said. “In any case, there I was, happily making a mural on my own in the middle of the night, when a bald man about ten years my senior stopped and asked if he could watch me working.” His smile widened. “I told him he could watch if he paid me, thinking my terrible manners would scare him off. He just laughed and offered me a fifty- _dirham_ bill. And that’s how I met Solas for the first time.”

Tamaris smiled, amused by the unusual meeting. “So he’s always known you’re a cheeky shit, then.” 

Felassan laughed. “I’d be terribly offended if you weren’t entirely right. In any case, that’s how we met: he took an interest in the vandalism of some mouthy teenager on the street. And we became friends after that. Very unlikely friends, as he had just finished his post-doc in art history and had an upper-class accent.”

She huffed in amusement. “That’s so random.”

“Exactly,” he said with a grin. “What are the chances? One might almost consider it to be serendipitous.”

She smiled at him, and he released her hand to drape his arm around her shoulders. “Anyway. I finished high school — with top grades, I’d like to add. But for a kid with little money and little influence, there was nowhere to go from there. So I got a job working as a cater-waiter.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” she said softly. Not that working as a cater-waiter was bad, but she could only imagine it would have been boring for someone as curious and energetic as Felassan. 

“Don’t be,” he said. “It was part of my plan. I wasn’t finished with the bookmaking business, but now that I’d finished high school, I needed to expand my network.”

She immediately understood. “You used the waiter job to connect with rich people, to bring them into your gambling ring.”

He nodded. “As my bookie business grew, the network of people involved eventually expanded to the point that Solas got wind of it through his own social circles. He didn’t know that I was the one behind it, since I was careful to keep my identity as hidden as possible. But he… suspected, and I eventually told him that I was behind it.”

She stared at him. “You told him openly that you were running an illegal gambling ring?”

“I did indeed.”

“And what did he do?”

Felassan smiled. “He did precisely nothing.”

“He didn’t try to stop you?” she said in high surprise.

Felassan shrugged. “He was concerned, but more for my welfare than by my activities per se. He wanted me to go to university, you see. To pursue an art career, as he saw some kind of talent in my graffiti murals. Furthermore, he was sympathetic to my reasons for doing what I was doing.”

She scoffed. “Sympathetic, huh? Not something you often see in upper-class people.”

“True,” Felassan said. “But Solas isn’t exactly upper class.”

She frowned. “I thought you said he was.”

“I thought he was when we first met,” Felassan said. “But he isn’t exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

Felassan made a little face. “It’s… not my place to share the details. But he straddles the two sides of society in a way. He empathized with me, but he has — er, he _had_ very close ties to a very influential politician back in Arlathan. But that’s not all that made him unique.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “He has this very… compelling belief that our entire society could be better. He can be very charismatic.”

“He’s the reason you went to art school, then?” she asked.

“Yes,” Felassan confirmed. “I was an aimless teenager focused on money and little else, and Solas was my closest friend — my only real friend, truly, until he eventually introduced me to Abelas. And I admired Solas enormously.” Felasan sighed. “He was a passionate, intelligent man with a purpose that I wanted to believe in. I wanted to be like him, so I eventually followed his suggestions. I got scholarships, went to art school and did a PhD, just as he did.”

She nodded. Then something occurred to her – something that made her feel weird. The way he talked about Solas… 

She swallowed hard. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Were you in love with him?” she asked.

He smiled. “I was, yes. In retrospect, it was puppy love more than anything else. But yes, I was deeply infatuated with him for a long time.” He shrugged casually. “Unreciprocated, of course — he has always seen me as a younger brother, and that familial sentiment is what we now share.”

She relaxed slightly, pleased that Felassan saw Solas as a brother. “Mm,” she acknowledged.

Felassan smirked. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” she said. “Just curious.”

“Not jealous, then?” he said playfully.

She scoffed and pretended her ears weren’t feeling hot. “I’m not fucking jealous.”

He chuckled and squeezed her shoulder, and she tried to change the subject. “So once you went to university—”

“Ah, you’re jumping ahead,” he said. “There is something important I haven’t told you yet.”

“What’s that?”

“That I was arrested and thrown in jail.”

Her jaw dropped. “ _What?_ ”

He laughed brightly. “That’s the exciting thing I was getting to. Eventually my bookie business was so successful that I decided to take things a bit farther. With the network I had built up through the upper echelons of Arlathani society — all very quietly, of course — I set up an underground poker game, high stakes only, very elite. As it turns out, the upper class are so inundated with money that they seek elaborate ways to throw it away.” He held his hands out in a magnanimous gesture. “Who was I to complain if they wanted to throw it in my direction?”

She gaped at him wordlessly. She was frankly a bit stunned by this. “Holy fuck,” she said eventually. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “But I learned well from my suspension experience in high school. I listened carefully and collected secrets, and as it turns out, there is little that’s more terrifying to the upper class than the possibility that their secrets will be leaked. And thus, with the power of blackmail on my side, I kept my interests protected.” He raised an eyebrow. “Until I was foiled by someone who had more power than my collected secrets could afford me.”

“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Similar to when I was in high school, someone wasn’t very happy about losing. She was a famous artist named Ghilan’nain, and one day when she lost the equivalent of forty thousand Orlesian dollars, she—”

“Forty _thousand_?” she blurted.

“Yes. She lost that money in a badly-played hand, and—”

Tamaris stopped walking and held up a hand. “Hang on. I… holy fuck. You were dealing in tens of thousands of dollars?”

“Yes, I was,” he said patiently. “I told you, _avise_ , I have a head for numbers.”

She stared stupidly at him for a second, lost for words, and he eventually gave her a crooked smile. “Are you horrified yet?”

“Not horrified,” she said blankly. “I’m just… I had no idea. This is literally like a movie. Not like real life.”

His smile widened, and he ushered her to keep walking with one hand at her back. “I assure you, this was my life. In any case, Ghilan’nain lost enormously, and she ran off to her partner Andruil for help — her partner who, unfortunately, was a very well-known lawyer who works for the Arlathani supreme court.” He clicked his tongue sadly. “Now, I had influence, but not _that_ much influence. So once again, my business was shut down, and this time I was thrown into jail.”

“Oh my fucking gods,” she breathed. 

“I wasn’t there for long,” he assured her. “Just a couple of days, until my bail was posted.”

“Who paid your bail?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow, and Tamaris exhaled. “Solas. He paid your bail, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Felassan said. “Mind you, he paid it mostly using my own savings from all those lovely illegal poker games, but without Solas’s help to access that money, I would have remained in jail.”

She shook her head slowly. “That’s… fuck.”

He nodded. “Unfortunately, the thrown-in-jail piece was a bit too much for my parents. They didn’t know about any of the bookmaking or the gambling, you see. So when I got thrown in jail and it all came out, they cast me out.”

Her stomach swooped sickeningly. “ _What?_ ”

“They cast me out,” he said. “Disowned me. They were furious that I lied to them, and mortified by my illegal activities. And, as before, they thought I had done it all because I was lazy and unwilling to work hard for success.”

She stared at him with rising indignation. His parents had disowned him? How was he so calm about this? “Running a high-stakes illegal poker game sounds like a lot of fucking work to me,” she said in a hard voice. 

He widened his eyes comically. “That’s what I said! Unfortunately for me, it didn’t go over well. So I went to live with Solas for a time, which is when he finally convinced me to leave the criminal life behind and go into academia instead.”

She swallowed hard. “Fuck. I’m so… Felassan, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe they fucking disowned you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “It’s all right.”

“How is all right?” she snapped. “They — your parents disowned you for illegal gambling? Of all the way-worse things you could have been doing to make money? That’s so fucking stupid. They’re your parents!”

His smile became a little melancholy. “It’s not entirely their fault. As I said, it’s part of that deeply-ingrained belief about the so-called power of hard work. It runs very deep.” He shrugged and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Besides, they came around eventually, so all’s well that ends well.”

She relaxed slightly. “They came around?”

“Yes, after I moved to Orlais,” he said. “I couldn’t talk them around before that.” He smirked. “I suppose the distance made them realize that they actually cared about me or something along those lines.”

“After you moved to Orlais…” She frowned. “But I thought you didn’t move to Orlais until you were in the middle of your PhD.”

“That’s correct,” he said.

Incensed once more, she glared at him. “They didn’t talk to you for, like, five fucking years?”

“That’s right,” he said. “They forgave me in the end, though. It just took a little patience on my part.”

A cold feeling gripped her gut. Patience? He thought they had come around because he was patient? Wasn’t he angry at them for holding him at a distance for so long? Why did he think it was _his_ responsibility to wait for them to stop being unreasonable?

Felassan was talking once more. “I should point out another good thing that came from the loss of my business,” he said. “It turned out that the secrets I collected were useful in the end. You recall that I told you about Solas being instrumental in the reveal of Arlathan’s history of slavery?”

“Yes,” she said, a little distractedly. 

“That revelation became possible partly thanks to some information that I gave him about Andruil and Ghilan’nain,” Felassan said. “Andruil was one of the greatest proponents of keeping slavery a secret, and she was very influential.” He shot her a sly little smile. “Fortunately for us, she was also very corrupt. Solas used the information I gave him and had her disbarred, and her credibility was ruined. It really cleared the way for our agenda quite nicely.”

Struck dumb once more, she gaped at him. He was being so casual about this, with all his talk about political machinations and corrupt lawyers and blackmail… 

Another shiver ran down her spine. She folded her arms, and Felassan chuckled softly. “Are you horrified now?” he asked.

“Why do you keep asking me that?” she said testily.

“It would be fair if you were,” he said. “The illegal gambling, the blackmail, the manipulation…” His smile widened. “You aren’t horrified with me?”

“I told you, I’m not horrified,” she insisted. “I’m just… I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like you.”

He chuckled. “You don’t think I’m capable of doing such fiendish things?”

“It’s not that,” she said slowly. “You’re obviously smart enough to pull all that shit off. It’s just…” She studied him carefully for a moment. “There’s a reason you don’t do it anymore.”

“How do you know I’m not still doing it?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “I guess I don’t know for sure,” she admitted. “But I think you would have told me if you were.”

His expression softened. “You’re confident that I would have told you?”

“Yeah, I am.” She gave him a small smile. “You’re a charming brat, but you wouldn’t lie to me.”

He smiled at her — a huge, breathtaking smile that made her heart flip.

She dropped his gaze and ruffled her fingers through her hair. “What?”

“I’m just… glad you feel that way,” he said.

She nodded and nibbled the inside of her cheek. Then Felassan took her hand. 

He laced his fingers with hers, and she scrambled for something coherent to say. “So… so you guys eventually came here to Orlais. How did that happen?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Arlathan was very insular until about ten years ago, as you know — around the same time when our history of slavery became publicly known,” he said. “Some trade agreements and other various agreements were made between Arlathan and Orlais and Ferelden, very boring stuff, and one of those agreements was between the University of Orlais and the University of Arlathan: an exchange program of sorts. Solas and Abelas were chosen for the contract, and I came along with them. The idea was that I would finish up my PhD here in Orlais, then get started on the tenure track to become an assistant professor.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Assistant professor? You?”

He barked out a laugh. “You don’t think I would be a good professor?”

“You’d be fine,” she said. “It’s just not you.”

“You’re right,” he said. “It isn’t. It took me far too long to realize that, however — midway through my PhD, unfortunately.” His expression became wry. “When I finished my PhD and told Solas I had no intention of remaining in academia, he was… not very happy.”

She frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

He smiled faintly. “He shut me out. He didn’t speak to me for about six months.”

“What?” she blurted. “What the fuck? Why not?”

He sighed. “It’s… complicated. But in short, he wanted me to take his place eventually. My decision to leave academia threw a wrench in his long-term plans, both here and back home in Arlathan.”

“But he’s your — you’re family,” she exclaimed. “How could he shut you out? Especially knowing your parents did the same thing?”

He chuckled softly. “It wasn’t his finest moment. He would tell you the same thing now if you were to ask him.”

Tamaris scowled, and Felassan squeezed her hand. “Now now, _avise_ , no need to wear that lovely scowl. He got over his anger eventually. I just had to wait it out for a few months.”

“You make it sound like it was your fault,” she burst out.

He tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“Solas shutting you out,” she said. “And your parents. You make it sound like it was your… I don’t know, responsibility or something to wait for them to come around. Like they had a right to fucking shun you like they did.”

He shrugged casually. “Sometimes people need time.”

“Maybe they don’t deserve your time,” she retorted.

He smirked and held one hand to his chest. “On behalf of Solas and my parents, that hurts.”

“I mean it,” she snapped. “You’re — you deserve better. You don’t deserve to be kept waiting.”

His expression changed, softening and growing tender in a way that made her heart race. “Some people are worth waiting for,” he said gently.

“Yeah, well, _you’re_ worth — you’re worth more than that,” she said belligerently. “You’re worth…” She broke off, feeling like her chest was about to burst with frustration. She was pissed on behalf of Felassan, so pissed that his parents and Solas had shunned him and made him feel like _he_ was the one at fault. 

Worse yet, she was pissed at herself for keeping Felassan waiting, for forcing him to wait even though she _wanted_ him and was just being a fucking coward. 

Her heart was pounding in her ears – a brisk angry drumbeat that made her feel jittery. She took a deep breath to try and calm herself down, and Felassan gently squeezed her arm. “Tamaris, it’s all right—”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him hard. A second later, he was hugging her back just as tightly. 

She buried her face against his neck and breathed in the sweet and spicy scent of his skin. His left hand was gripping the back of her leather jacket, his other palm beneath her jacket and pressed warmly to her back, and Tamaris had to force back the sudden burn of tears at the backs of her eyes. 

She hugged him tightly for a long moment, marvelling at the comforting press of his body against hers. When she leaned away slightly, Felassan tilted his head toward her. “Are you–”

She kissed him, cutting off his words and cradling his face in her hands – this handsome, cheeky face she hadn’t even known a mere five weeks ago, but was coming to treasure with every passing day. Without hesitation, Felassan kissed her back, gathering her tightly to his chest and sliding his hand into her hair. He gently scratched her scalp, and when she gasped against his lips, he smiled – a brilliant flash of a smile – then took her lips in another blissful kiss. 

They stood there together in the middle of a busy Orlesian mall with people chattering and pushing all around them, two fixed and tranquil points amidst the noisy flux, and Tamaris didn’t even care that they were in people’s way; Felassan’s hands were in her hair and his lips were pulling tenderly at hers, and in this moment, the only thing she cared about was _him._

A leisurely, perfect minute later, she reluctantly lowered herself back onto her heels, and Felassan smiled slowly at her. “That was unexpected,” he murmured. “My cheeks are burning.”

She gazed at him seriously. “You’re worth the fucking risk, Felassan,” she said. 

His eyebrows rose. “What are you saying?”

A jolt of nerves shot through her chest, but finally, after far too long, Tamaris could recognize the jolt for what it was: a good feeling, an excited feeling – a feeling of falling headfirst into a beautiful but bottomless oasis. 

Sher took a deep breath. “I’m saying I… I want to take a risk with you.”

All at once, a brilliant, beautiful smile burst across his face. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

She scoffed and pushed at his chest. “Yes, okay? Yes. I’m asking you to be my fucking boyfriend.”

He laughed: that bright, joyful, rolling laugh that lit a thrill in her heart. “I am honoured and delighted to accept,” he said.

She smiled, then laughed giddily. “You’re such a nerd.”

He clicked his tongue. “Such insults. I think you should kiss me to make up for it.”

She huffed, then popped up on her toes and kissed him firmly on the lips. “There. Are you happy now?”

“Nearly,” he said. 

“Only nearly?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said. “You know what would make me completely happy?”

“What?”

His lips curled with mischief. “Being alone with you right now.”

_Being alone…_ The implication in his tone was clear, and once again, that jolt of nervous excitement trickled through her chest, followed by a bloom of heat deep in her belly.

She plucked at his shirt. “Fuck, we can’t just ditch though…”

He chuckled softly and tweaked a lock of her hair. “I know, _avise_. I’m in no rush. Some things are worth waiting for.”

His smile was beautiful and tender, and his violet eyes were so warm and clear. His expression was an invitation, a beautiful invitation to fall headfirst into his patient arms, and Tamaris was finally, _finally_ ready to fall. 

She twisted her fingers in his t-shirt and pulled him close for one more kiss. She savoured the plush softness of his lips, these lips that were always curled in a mischievous smile, then released him and poked his belly.

“Come on,” she murmured. “I’ll buy you a coffee to make up for it.”

He whistled. “Coffee? You minx. You really must be trying to seduce me.” 

She snorted a laugh. “Shut the fuck up, you brat.” 

He laughed and took her hand. They wandered hand-in-hand through the mall, aimless but happy, cushioned from the busy press of the people around them by the warmth of their shared laughter, too occupied with each other to heed the bustle and haste that surrounded them.

They were in no rush, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the shopping trip continues with Athera's POV! And possibly Nare's POV. I haven't written it yet, so we'll see how long the chapter is. 😅
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	28. Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is SCARY but the content is not at all, I promise. 😂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another random TV rec if anyone is looking for something to watch: _Start Up_ on Netflix! My new favourite Korean drama WHICH I LOVE SO SO MUCH OMFG. And which my fiance agreed to watch for a second time with me. HE IS VERY PATIENT. 😂 Please enjoy [this song from the show soundtrack,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTcM3qCeup0) which was my Athera vibe while writing this chapter.

###  ATHERA 

“Okay,” Nare said. “I’m ready to go. Are you ready?”

Athera turned to face her. “Yeah, I’m – _ooh,_ what are you getting?”

Nare showed her the items she’d picked: six sexy lace-and-silk panties in blues and greens, and two matching bras. Athera raised her eyebrows appreciatively. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you were sick of boring underwear!” 

Nare pulled a face. “It’s not too much, you don’t think?”

“No no,” Athera said quickly. “They’re so pretty! You’ve almost got enough for a whole week!”

Nare shrugged and rubbed her thumb over one of the panties. “Yeah, I know. I just thought it would be nice.”

“It is!” Athera insisted. “They’re so nice. I think it’s great that you want to feel sexy. Come on, get in line.” She ushered Nare into the cashier line, feeling guilty for sounding so surprised. It really was great that Nare was feeling more in touch with her sexy side these days. And who knew, maybe wearing all these cute panties would get her in the mood to try dating again!

They shuffled forward in the line, and Nare eyed Athera’s empty hands. “What about you? How come you’re not getting anything?”

Athera let out a little laugh. “Me, get something from here? I don’t need anything from here. You know me, I’m a cute-but-comfy kind of girl when it comes to underwear.”

“That’s fair,” Nare said. Then she tilted her head thoughtfully. “Do you think Abelas would like lacy underwear?”

Athera’s cheeks went hot. “Nare!” she hissed, and she glanced around the store.

“What?” Nare said. “He’s not here.”

“Some of his students might be!” she whispered.

Nare tutted. “You could say that about any prof at the school.” She lifted her eyebrows. “So?”

“So what?” Athera said shiftily. 

Nare gave her a chiding look. “Are you going to tell him you like him?”

Athera gave her a pitiful look. “You know I can’t.” She’d told Nare and Tamaris last night about the lunchtime outing yesterday — the very confusing outing where Athera could only conclude that she’d scared Abelas off by hitting on him _way_ too boldly by accident. 

She honestly hadn’t meant to feed him ice cream. The truth was, she hadn’t even thought about it at the time. She’d lifted the spoon to his mouth as though it was a totally normal thing for a person to do, which maybe it would be if Abelas was her boyfriend, but he definitely was _not_ her boyfriend. He was sort-of her boss in a way, for spirits’ sake, and she’d — oh gods, she had fed ice cream to her sort-of boss. It was so _embarrassing._

Nare, meanwhile, was still giving her a pointed look. “I still don’t get why you can’t tell him you like him. He obviously likes you too.”

“You don’t know that,” Athera said in exasperation.

“He grabbed your hand,” Nare pointed out.

“Not my hand,” she corrected. “My wrist.”

Nare waved dismissively. “Hand, wrist, same thing. He touched you. That’s what matters.”

Athera tutted. “He basically ran away from me at the end of lunch!”

“No no, forget everything else,” Nare insisted. “He grabbed your wrist. That’s the most important thing.”

“You don’t understand,” Athera whined. “He agreed more than once that we were just friends…”

Nare gave her a stern look. “Athera. Think about your Hercinian dramas. What does it mean when a guy grabs a girl’s wrist?”

Athera tilted her head thoughtfully. Nare had a point. In all of her favourite dramas, the guy always grabbed the girl’s wrist to stop her from walking away or to say something sweet to her. In all honesty, it was one of Athera’s favourite tropes. And Abelas had done it to her… 

Oh spirits, her cheeks were going hot — a fact that Nare obviously noticed. “See?” she said. “He likes you.”

“But this isn’t a Hercinian drama!” Athera bleated. “It’s real life! Real guys don’t _do_ things like in Hercinian dramas. They don’t, like, grab your hand or leave cute gifts on your porch for you to find when you come home or… I don’t know, make friends with your grandma.”

Nare grinned. “You want Abelas to make friends with your grandma?”

Athera scoffed. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just…” She gave Nare a stern look. “This is real life, okay? It’s not a drama. Guys don’t _really_ try to win girls over in cute ways like that. Besides, Abelas is very practical. If he liked me, he’d say something, and he hasn’t said anything, so he must not like me.” She nodded pertly. “See, it’s just logic.”

Nare gave her an exasperated look, but before she could say anything, Athera pointed helpfully at the cashier. “Look, it’s your turn.”

Nare pursed her lips, then turned away to pay for her pretty new underwear, and Athera breathed a sigh of relief. She knew Nare and Tamaris disagreed with her, but they hadn’t been there yesterday. They hadn’t seen how quiet Abelas got after she fed him the ice cream. And they hadn’t heard him confirming that they were just friends. If they’d been there, they would agree with her that Abelas wasn’t interested.

But an unbidden memory bloomed in her mind: the memory of Abelas’s warm fingers wrapping around her wrist. How big his hands were, and the way his fingers encircled her wrist completely. Athera had never seen herself as being particularly delicate, but with her wrist totally engulfed by Abelas’s strong fingers, and the way he loomed over her with his unusual height…

Gods, he was just so big. And handsome. And romantic in an adorably intellectual way… A ripple of heat coursed through her body, followed immediately by a distinct feeling of shame. She shouldn’t be thinking about him this way. He didn’t feel the same way about her, so these feelings were just… she was being silly.

Nare joined her with a glossy Teia’s Secret bag in hand, and Athera smiled. “Okay, time for Bonny Sims! Should I send a text to Tam?” 

Nare took hold of her arm. “Athera, pretend I’m Tamaris for a second.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Okay. I mean, you have to sneer a little more to really sell it, but—”

Nare interrupted her. “You’re being stupid.”

Athera gaped at her. “Huh?”

“You’re being stupid,” she repeated. “Abelas likes you. I don’t get why you’re being all shy and weird about it.”

Athera slumped. “He makes me nervous, okay?”

Nare raised her eyebrows. “He does? I thought you weren’t scared of him.”

“I’m not,” Athera said.

Nare’s face twisted with confusion. “So—”

Athera held her hands up. “Okay, look. When it comes to work stuff, he’s not scary at all. He’s a little grumpy, but he just needs time to get used to new ideas, and he gets over it. That’s easy. It’s the non-work stuff where he’s just so…”

Nare raised her eyebrows expectantly, and Athera sighed. “Think about my boyfriends in the past. Loranil, Fenarel… They were so sweet and cute. Like puppies! They wore their hearts on their sleeves, you know?”

Nare smiled fondly. “They were like you.”

“Yeah!” Athera said. Then she tilted her head. “Wait, did I just call myself a puppy? Whatever. They were easy to understand, you know? Abelas is… he’s nothing like them. He’s so hard to read. Half the time I don’t know if he likes spending these lunches with me, or if he just wishes he could go back to the office. And he’s…” She trailed off as another intrusive memory of his height and his breadth crossed her mind.

Her cheeks started warming once more, and Nare nodded. “He’s really hot. I get it.”

“No,” Athera said forcefully. “That’s just it. You don’t — he’s — yes, he’s hot. He’s… ugh, he’s _so_ hot. But I don’t — what if he — I don’t want him to think I’m just, like, some stupid girl mooning over him because he’s good-looking.”

Nare gave her a chiding look and started walking toward the store exit. “There’s no way he thinks that. Don’t you spend all your time together talking about history and literature and stuff?”

“Yeah, but I…” She sighed and gestured at her face. “I blush all the time when I’m around him. It’s so embarrassing.”

Nare smiled. “It’s not embarrassing. It’s cute.”

“It’s not cute,” Athera retorted. “It’s annoying. I don’t want him to think I just have a silly crush on him.”

Nare’s smile softened. “So you admit that it’s more than just a crush, then?”

Athera wilted a bit as they stepped out of the store. “I just mean that it’s… I don’t like him just because he’s good-looking. He’s so smart. So, _so_ smart. And he’s kind and funny too.”

Nare lifted her eyebrows. “He’s funny? Really?”

“Yes, okay?” she said defensively. “He is funny. And no one sees it. I feel bad for him. But that’s not why I like him, it’s not just pity,” she said hurriedly. “Not that it matters anyway because he doesn’t like me.” She groaned. “Ugh, this is so dumb.”

Nare suddenly pinched her arm, and she yelped. “Hey! That hurt!” 

“Look,” Nare hissed. “Isn’t that him?”

“What?” Athera said blankly. She followed Nare’s gaze, and her heart jammed itself in her throat. 

It _was_ him. It was Abelas. He was about twenty paces away from them, unmistakable with his height and his long white braid and his usual handsome frown, and Athera couldn’t believe her eyes. What was he doing at a mall on a Saturday? He hated inefficiency, and going to the mall on a Saturday morning was the textbook definition of ‘inefficient’. 

“Oh gods,” Athera said faintly. “What is he doing here—”

“Professor Abelas!” Nare called out.

Athera jumped, then poked her hard. “Nare!” she hissed. “What are you—”

Nare ignored her and waved. “Professor Abelas, over here!” 

Abelas looked up. His eyes darted from Nare to Athera, and when his frown deepened slightly, Athera wished she could melt into the floor. 

“Oh spirits,” she squeaked. “Look, see, he’s not happy to see me. Come on, let’s go—”

“Can’t go now,” Nare said brightly. “He’s coming over. Hi, Professor Abelas!”

“Good morning, Nare,” Abelas said gravely. Then his golden eyes moved to Athera’s face. 

“Athera,” he said quietly. 

“Hi,” Athera said, very intelligently. 

There was a pause — a terrible, horrible pause. Then Nare pulled out her phone. “I’m going to text Tamaris,” she said. “I’ll just be over here.” She stepped a couple feet away from them, and Athera forced herself to breathe through her pounding heart.

 _It’s fine,_ she thought. _I’ll just murder Nare when we get home, no big deal._ She gave Abelas a smile. “So! What are you doing here on a Saturday?”

“Shopping,” he said. “Or attempting to do so. It’s… busy.” He glanced around the mall with a slight curl to his lip.

Athera smiled and relaxed a bit. His distaste for the mall was so predictable that it made her feel more at ease. “Yeah, it is,” she agreed. “I’m surprised to see you here. Why did you come today of all days?”

“Because I needed something urgently,” he said.

“What are you looking for?” she asked. “Maybe we can help you find it more quickly.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not necessary.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You really don’t like asking for help, do you?”

He gave her a sharp look. “Excuse me?”

 _Oops,_ she thought sadly. Had she overstepped again? She seemed to do that a lot with him. Oh well, it was too late to backtrack now. 

She shrugged. “I’ve just… I noticed that you don’t like asking for help. Like that problem that was bothering you yesterday at lunchtime. Did you manage to sort that out, by the way?”

His brow creased a bit more. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

She nodded. Then she realized something. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Wait. When did you sort it out? You didn’t come back to the office after your meeting, did you?”

He pursed his lips, and Athera knew what he was going to say before he said it. “I sorted it out last night,” he said stiffly. 

She planted her fists on her hips. “Did you work from home?” she said sternly. 

His frown deepened. “Perhaps. What of it?”

She gazed at him with rising exasperation. “You spent the whole day being so stressed. Did you even take a break when you got home?”

“Yes, Athera, I took a break,” he grumbled. “But I had no choice but to work.”

“What do you mean, you had no choice?” she asked. 

“I needed to free up the time in my schedule to come here today.” 

She dropped her arms back to her sides, her annoyance deflated in favour of curiosity. “Really? You weren’t kidding when you said you needed something urgently, then. What do you need?”

He scowled, and his annoyance was so obvious that Athera finally backed off. “Okay okay, I’ll stop asking, I—”

He cut her off. “I need a blazer.” 

She blinked in surprise. “A blazer?”

“Yes,” he said. “A blazer. That is why I’m here.”

“Okay,” she said, a little nonplussed. Then she tilted her head. “Wait, why do you urgently need a blazer?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Athera…”

“Okay, fine, I’m done asking questions, I’ll stop,” she said hastily. “I just… fine, _this_ is the last thing I’ll say: I would suggest Bonny Sims. They have a huge selection and a lot of cashiers, so it should be easy for you to get in and out fast.”

Finally, thankfully, his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Thank you. Then that is where I will go.”

“We were just heading there too, actually,” she said. We’ll walk with you.” She turned to Nare, who was tapping busily on her phone. “Hey, are you ready? Where are Tamaris and Felassan?”

Abelas spoke before Nare could reply. “Felassan? He is with you?”

Athera glanced at him. “Yeah, he’s with Tamaris somewhere,” she said vaguely, and she turned to Nare once more. “Nare, are you ready for Bonny Sims?”

Nare finally looked up from her phone. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to run over to the Black Emporium quickly, there’s a sale that looks really good.”

Athera straightened with surprise. “Wha— wait, we’ll come with you!”

Behind her, Abelas shifted restlessly. “Athera, I can’t—”

Nare interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Go with Abelas! I’ll meet you when I’m done. Or you can text me and come to the Black Emporium.”

Athera narrowed her eyes at Nare. She _knew_ that Nare was just doing this to force her to spend time with Abelas.

Nare grinned as though she could hear her thoughts. “I’ll see you soon, okay? Later!” She turned on her heel and walked away without waiting for a reply, leaving Athera alone with Abelas.

 _She is so dead when we get home,_ Athera thought darkly. Then she looked up at Abelas.

He was scowling at Nare’s departing back. _Probably mad at her for sticking him with me,_ she thought, and a little ache of disappointment pulsed behind her ribs. 

Well, she wasn’t going to force him to spend time with her if he didn’t want to. She jerked her thumb at Nare. “Look, I’m going to—”

“Shall we?” he said gruffly.

She blinked. “You… want me to come with you?”

He pursed his lips, then sighed. “If I am choosing a blazer, I would not say ‘no’ to a second opinion.”

“Okay,” she said cautiously. “If you’re sure.” 

He gestured politely for her to proceed, and they made their way toward Bonny Sims, which was just a couple of minutes away. Abelas was silent as they walked, and Athera tried not to take it personally; she knew he was uncomfortable with crowds, and besides, it would be hard to have a polite conversation with all the noise around them. He’d have to bend down to hear her properly, which would be weird and awkward. 

She nibbled the inside of her cheek as they eased their way through the crowds. But Athera soon realized something odd: she didn’t _need_ to ease her way through the crowds. People seemed to be moving aside to let them pass.

To let _Abelas_ pass, more like. He was walking slightly behind her at a steady pace, not slowing down and not moving aside for anyone who was coming toward them, and Athera watched with growing fascination as people simply slid past him like meltwater flowing around an immovable rock. 

_Oh, to be a big huge muscly man,_ she thought with a smirk. 

He glanced at her. “Is something funny?”

She smiled up at him. “Not funny. Just convenient.”

He raised his eyebrows quizzically, and Athera waved her hand. “It’s nothing, never mind.” 

He frowned slightly but said nothing more. A minute later, they stepped into the relative quiet of Bonny Sims, and Athera exhaled with relief at the ability to talk easily once more. “So what do you need this urgent blazer for?” she asked as she led the way to the men’s formalwear department. “Is someone getting married?”

“Married?” he asked. “Why would you say that?”

She shrugged. “No reason, really. It’s just the first reason I could think of for getting a new blazer.”

“Ah,” he said. “The answer is no: I am not attending a wedding.”

“Oh,” she said. “Going to an important conference, then?”

He gave her a chiding look. “You ask a great deal of questions.”

A little pang of hurt poked at her chest. She dropped his gaze and smiled weakly. “I know, I know. I’m so nosy. I’ll stop.”

“There is no need to stop,” he said. “But perhaps you could ask about something else.”

She looked up at him in genuine surprise. “You’re not annoyed by my questions?”

“Questions about the blazer, yes,” he said dryly. “Other questions, however…” He lifted his shoulders. “It will depend on what you ask.”

She smiled and relaxed a little. “Okay, challenge accepted. How about… tell me how you first got interested in literature and poetry.”

He raised his eyebrows, and Athera winced. “Too personal?”

“No, it’s… it is fine,” he said slowly. He ran a hand over his hair. “For as long as I can remember, I have always had an appreciation for the written word. My mother believes it is because she used to read to me when I was a child.”

Athera raised her eyebrows. “Is it unusual for parents to read to their children in Arlathan?”

“To read children’s books, no,” he said. “To read literature and poetry to a child, however? This was unusual, yes.”

Her eyes widened. “Your mom read literature to you when you were a kid?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I cannot say,” he said. “But she bore a great love for such works, and she passed that love on to me.”

Athera smiled. “She sounds so lovely.”

He nodded. “She is a very kind and intelligent woman.”

“What about your father? Assuming you have a father,” she added hastily. 

“I do,” Abelas said. “He is a colonel in the Arlathani military.”

 _His dad is a colonel?_ Athera thought. This made a great deal of sense. “Is he all strong and stoic too?” she said playfully.

He grunted. “He could be described as such, yes.”

Athera smiled helplessly at him, and he gave her a quizzical look. “Does something amuse you?”

“It’s just cute, that’s all,” she said. “You got the best of both of your parents. Your mom’s soft side and your dad’s discipline.”

He studied her in silence for a second before speaking. “That is kind of you to say.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You always say I’m being kind. I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

“It is not obvious to others,” he said quietly. “I am… honoured that you see such favourable traits in me.”

He was watching her with that pensive look he wore sometimes, and Athera gazed back at him with a swelling feeling in her chest. His surprise at even the mildest praise made her heart hurt. 

She dropped his gaze and stepped away from him before she did something stupid like hug him. “It’s… it’s just the truth, that’s all,” she stammered. “So, um, blazers…” She wandered toward the nearest rack. “You like earthy colours, right? Greens and browns and greys?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Okay,” she said, and she started perusing the racks. “What size are you? Large? Extra large?”

“I am not certain,” he said.

She paused and looked at him. “What do you mean, you’re not certain? How do you not know what size you are?”

“I usually get fitted for clothing,” he said. “I don’t… search in stores in this manner.” He gestured dismissively at the clothing racks. 

She stared at him a little incredulously. “You… wait. Your clothes are all professionally fitted?” Her gaze darted from his green blazer and black fitted mock-neck sweater down to his black trousers. Actually, this made perfect sense. He was always really nicely dressed, if a little formally. 

“Not all of them,” he said. “Not exercise clothing or the like. But those are not fitted in the same way.”

“Okay, well…” She quickly regrouped and nodded. “Well, let’s find someone to size you, then.”

He wilted. “Athera, that is not necessary.”

“Sure it is!” she said. “If it’s what you usually do, then we have to do it.” She looked around the store for an employee, then caught the eye of a human clerk about her age and waved.

The clerk hurried over with a smile. “Hi there! Can I help you?”

Athera beamed at her. “Yes! Can you get his upper body measurements, please?” She gestured at Abelas. “We’re looking for a blazer.”

“Of course!” the clerk chirped. “Come this way.”

“Thanks!” Athera followed the girl toward the changing rooms, and Abelas trailed behind her. When Athera glanced back at him, it was to find him pouting. 

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. He just looked so cute, especially when his pout deepened at her laughter. 

“What is funny?” he said sullenly.

“You,” she said. “You’re being such a guy about this.” His stereotypical guy behaviour was actually making her feel more at ease than she’d felt thus far.

“I am not being childish, if that is your implication,” he said grumpily.

“ _I_ never said childish,” she said. “ _You_ did.”

He clicked his tongue. “You truly sound like Felassan.”

She giggled. “You know what, I think I’ll take that as a compliment. Even if he does annoy me.”

“He annoys you?” Abelas asked.

“Sometimes. Not in a bad way,” she clarified. “In a ‘he’s a know-it-all but he’s not even rude about it, so you can’t really be mad’ kind of way.”

He smiled faintly. Then, to her delight, he chuckled. “That is remarkably accurate.”

Her heart fluttered at the very rare sound of his mirth, and she beamed at him. A moment later, the clerk led them into a spacious and empty changing area that led off into multiple individual stalls. “I’m just going to grab a tape measure, okay?” she chirped. “I’ll be right back!” She bustled away, leaving Athera and Abelas alone. 

Athera smiled at him. “So why _do_ you get your clothes fitted? It’s usually something that fancy people do.”

His eyebrows rose. “Fancy people?”

“Yeah, like rich people,” she said. “People who can basically afford for other people to shop for them.”

A small frown creased his brow once more. “I… am not sure what to say. My family has always done this.”

She suddenly realized that she’d put her foot in her mouth. “Oh. Oh shit,” she breathed. “I-I mean, um, shoot. Do you come from—” She broke off. She was about to ask if he came from money, but that would be incredibly crass.

“Is your family, um, well-off?” she said carefully.

“Yes,” he said, a bit stiffly. “Generally speaking, high-ranking military officers in Arlathan are well compensated for their service.”

“Right, right,” she said hurriedly. She pulled a little face. “I’m sorry, Abelas. I didn’t mean to be rude or imply anything. It’s just… not what I’m used to.”

He studied her for a moment longer. Then his expression softened. “I understand. I take no offense. And it was not my intention to be ungrateful, either. I hope only for this process to be as expeditious as possible.”

She chuckled, and he shot her a flat look. “Have I said something amusing again?”

“Not amusing. Just impressive,” she said. “I’ve never heard anyone actually say the word ‘expeditious’.”

He frowned. “Have I made a translation error?”

“No no, you’re — the word is fine,” she said. “It’s just a really… a very literary choice of word.”

He pursed his lips, and Athera gently squeezed his forearm. “It’s a good choice of word, Abelas. I like it.”

His eyes darted to her hand. _Oh fuck,_ she thought, and she whipped her hand away with a nervous little laugh. 

Thankfully, the clerk came back at that moment with a measuring tape. “Okeedoke! Sir, can you take off your blazer and your sweater, and I’ll get your measurements super quickly.”

Abelas pursed his lips and started pulling off his blazer, and Athera stood there idly for a second. Then the clerk’s words clicked into her brain. _Take off his sweater?_ Wait. He was — he had to take off his sweater? Was he wearing anything under his sweater? 

_Oh gods._ A flush of heat prickled her cheeks, and she took a step back. “Uh, I should—”

It was too late for her to leave; Abelas was already peeling off his fitted mock-neck. Before Athera could move another step, his sweater was off.

Athera gaped at him. He was wearing a tank top undershirt that was neatly tucked into his trousers, but the fitted tank top did little to disguise his body. His chest was broad and packed with muscle, his abdomen was an enviously flat plane, and his bare arms…

He carefully folded the sweater before laying it on a nearby padded stool, and Athera stared stupidly at his arms. His muscles were bunching as he moved, the veins in his hands and forearms shifting smoothly beneath his pale skin, and Athera knew she needed to stop staring at him, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. She’d always known he was big and built, but seeing him in only a thin tank top to cover all that muscle was… more than she’d bargained for on a random Saturday morning, to say the least.

Her mouth was dry. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her cheeks and her whole body felt jittery, like there was a current of electricity running through her limbs, and she was suddenly and viscerally reminded of the fact that she hadn’t had sex in almost a year. 

Then Abelas looked up at her. 

She hastily turned away so he wouldn’t see her pervy feelings all over her stupid red face. “Um, I’m, um, I got a text,” she squeaked, and she pulled out her phone.

Naturally, there was no text. Athera stared blankly at her lock screen for a second, then pulled up her messaging app. 

Her group message thread with Nare and Tamaris was at the top of the list. She tapped the thread and furiously started typing.

_Athera 11:14 a.m.  
Nare I am gonna murder you when we get home! 😤🤬😩_

__

__

_Athera 11:14 a.m.  
I hope you enjoyed your short life because I’m going to END IT!!!_

She sent the texts, then took a deep breath and prayed for her face to return to its normal colour. She could hear the store clerk chatting idly while she took Abelas’s measurements, and by the time her face felt a normal temperature again so she could face them, the clerk was rolling up her measuring tape.

“All done!” she said with a smile. “If you like, I can go and grab some different blazers that should fit you, if you want to let me know what colours or materials you’re looking for.”

Abelas nodded. “That would be convenient. Perhaps something in brown or beige, in a material that will not crease.”

“Cool,” the clerk chirped. “I’ll be right back.” She headed toward the exit of the changing area, then paused and looked back at Abelas. “Oh, and you can put your sweater back on.” 

He nodded, and the clerk left the changing area, leaving Athera and Abelas alone.

He was gazing steadily at her, and she felt her cheeks turning pink again. _Damn,_ she thought irritably. _Damn and fuck._ Why did the clerk have to bring them to a totally empty changing area? Why couldn’t they be in a busy changeroom where there would be people around to cut the tension that was growing between them?

Or maybe there was no tension, and it was just Athera’s idiotic overactive imagination. She laughed nervously and tucked her hair behind her ear. “So, um, I reread the part of _Thenemathe_ with the farce about the _felan’asahngar_ now that I know what the meaning is, and it’s so much funnier now. It’s so cute how Ellana doesn’t realize what Mahanon is really hoping for when he gives her the bouquet of flowers, you know? But then it ends up being really charming to her parents when they think he got a bouquet for their anniversary and she’s even more infatuated with him and stuff, it’s really cute.” She pressed her lips together to stop herself from talking. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Abelas said. “I am pleased that the meaning of the flower has given you the context to fully appreciate that section of the book.” He had pulled his sweater back on while she was babbling and was standing there with his arms folded, and Athera forced herself to look at his face instead of the shapes of his biceps and his pecs under the fitted sweater. No hardship there, since his face was just as pleasant to look at as the rest of his body.

 _Don’t you dare blush again,_ she scolded herself, and she attempted a smile. “You’re always so worried that I won’t enjoy the Elvhen stuff you lent me.”

“I will worry less as we continue with our translation lunches,” he said. “You are picking up the idioms and metaphors remarkably quickly. It is a shame that our translation session yesterday was foiled by that walk you made us take.”

She shot him a cautious look, then relaxed; his expression was neutral, which, for Abelas, was almost as good as a smile. It seemed that he was teasing her, then.

She chuckled and folded her arms as well. “Tell me the truth. Was it helpful to go for that walk, or did it really just make you more stressed?”

“I was… less stressed about work-related issues after that walk, yes,” he said slowly.

Her amusement was instantly replaced by worry. Did that mean he was more stressed about other things after their walk, then? Had _she_ made him stressed out by feeding him that ice cream?

She dropped his gaze and tugged her ear. “Listen, Abelas, about the, um… yesterday, when I, um, f-fed you that ice cream, I — it was — I put you in an awkward position and I’m really, _really_ sorry. I swear I don’t mean to keep overstepping—”

“Athera,” he said firmly.

She looked up, and her tummy jolted. His expression was serious as usual, but there was something about his expression — about his eyes in particular, or the cant of his eyebrows, that was soft in a way that made her heart kick into a nervous beat. 

“Yes?” she said weakly.

“I must ask, again, that you stop apologizing for your behaviour,” he said. “You have no reason to apologize.”

She winced. “Are you sure? Not even for the, um, ice cream?”

“Not even for the ice cream,” he said. “Although I may change my mind if you keep disturbing my dietary routine with sweetened treats.”

There was a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips now, and his golden eyes were undeniably warm. Athera was so relieved that she couldn’t help but laugh.

Abelas’s smile widened slightly. Then the store clerk came back with an armful of blazers in shades of brown and beige. “All right!” she said brightly. “I’ve brought you a few to get started and I’ve got a couple more in mind, so try these and I’ll be right back!” She hung the blazers in a stall, then hurried away once more. 

Abelas sighed and slowly went over to the stall, and Athera wandered a little closer so she could see as well. Abelas flicked through the blazers quickly, then stepped back and folded his arms. 

Athera raised her eyebrows. “Aren’t you going to try any of them?”

“I do not like any of them,” he said.

“ _None_ of them?” she said in disbelief. The clerk had brought five different blazers.

“No,” he said.

“But you didn’t even try them on,” Athera said. “Look, this one would look so good with your black sweater.” She picked out a handsome sand-coloured blazer with thin lapels and held it up to his chest.

He frowned. “I don’t like it.”

She gave him a pleading look. “Will you at least try it?”

His frown deepened. “Why should I if I won’t be buying it?”

“You can’t know that you won’t be buying it unless you try it on,” she reasoned. She lowered her voice. “Besides, think of the girl who’s helping us. It’s her job to try and bring you stuff you like. She’ll feel bad if you don’t like any of the things she brought.”

Abelas pursed his lips, and Athera widened her eyes pleadingly. Finally he sighed. “Fine. Just this one,” he said bad-temperedly. He took the blazer and pulled it on, then stepped out of the stall to eye himself in the larger mirror in the main changing area.

He scowled and adjusted the cuffs, and Athera took the opportunity to shamelessly admire him. The sand-coloured blazer looked really good: it fit his shoulders well, tapered nicely at the waist, and it looked really nice against his sweater, just as she’d said.

She sidled around in front of him with a smile. “See? It looks great!” 

He grunted and tugged at the cuffs. “The sleeves are too short.”

“Only a little bit,” she said. “Not enough that anyone would notice.”

“ _I_ am noticing,” he retorted. He tugged the cuff of the other sleeve, then started pulling the blazer off. 

“Wait, wait,” she said hastily, and she darted forward and smoothed down his lapels. “At least just wait until the clerk comes back so she can see that you tried something.” 

He gave her an exasperated look, and she widened her eyes. “It’ll just be like a second! Look, there she is — hey!” Athera smiled at the clerk, who had a couple more blazers over her arm.

The clerk gasped as she joined them. “Oh, that looks amazing! What do you think?” she said avidly to Abelas.

“It won’t do. The sleeves are too short,” he said bluntly. 

Athera laughed nervously and patted his arm. “Um, I don’t suppose you have another one in a similar colour?” 

“Of course!” the clerk said. “Here, this one might fit better. This brand tends to run a little bigger, so it’s good for men who are a little more built.” Her gaze slid over Abelas’s body, and Athera instantly felt better. At least she wasn’t the only one noticing how good-looking he was.

She took the blazer and turned to Abelas with a winning smile. “Try this one?”

He scowled, and Athera took a little step closer to him. “It’s just one more,” she said soothingly. “Just this one, and if you don’t like it, we’ll go.”

He sighed loudly, then took the blazer. “Fine,” he bit off. “This is the last one.” He returned to the stall and started pulling off the blazer, and Athera turned to the clerk with an apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “He’s not really as grumpy as he seems, I promise.”

“Oh Maker, don’t even worry about it,” the girl said brightly. “My boyfriend hates shopping for clothes too.”

 _Boyfriend?_ Oh shit, did the clerk think Abelas was her boyfriend? Was it because she was treating him like he was her boyfriend? Was she being too touchy with him? She was, wasn’t she? 

_Damn it,_ she thought in despair. She’d better correct the clerk before she said something embarrassing in front of Abelas. “Actually, he’s not—” 

Abelas joined them. “The sleeves are the correct length, but the shoulders are too narrow,” he said, and he gave Athera a pointed look. “May we leave now?”

She looked up at him distractedly. “U-um, yeah. What?”

“The shoulders are too narrow,” he repeated. “The seams are at risk of tearing. May we leave?”

Athera glanced at his shoulders: the fabric was indeed stretched across them. _He’s too big for a blazer for big men,_ she thought, and she nearly laughed again. 

“Okay, let’s go,” she said instead. 

He nodded sharply and went back to the stall to remove the blazer, and Athera gave the clerk another apologetic look. “I’m so sorry none of the blazers worked out. Thank you so much for your help though, I really appreciate it…”

The clerk waved her off. “Seriously, don’t even worry about it,” she said. “We don’t get paid on commission here, so you just broke up the boredom of my day.” She smiled conspiratorially and lowered her voice. “Besides, it was no sweat looking at your boyfriend, if you don’t mind me saying. I should be thanking _you_.”

Athera’s face flamed. “Oh,” she said weakly. “I, well, he’s — I, he’s not actually—”

“I am ready to go,” Abelas said from just behind them. 

_Fuck,_ she thought desperately. Had he heard any of that? The clerk, meanwhile, was beaming at him. “Have a great day!” she said. “Bye!” She grinned at Athera too before traipsing away, leaving Athera alone to deal with Abelas’s frown.

She wilted. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but I think she got the wrong impression because I kept touching you and I know I should keep my hands to myself and I’m sorry, but I just—” 

“Athera,” he said sternly. “Stop apologizing. It is not necessary.” 

She exhaled slowly. “Okay, I’ll try,” she said. “I just… don’t want to keep being inappropriate.”

“I told you before, I am not bothered by your behaviour,” he said. “Now come: let us leave this store.”

She swallowed hard. He looked annoyed, and she couldn’t really blame him. Having someone assume they were together when he didn’t feel that way about her… 

A cold feeling of disappointment twisted in her belly. “Okay,” she mumbled, and she made her way out of the changeroom toward the exit with Abelas’s silent looming height just behind her. As they made their way from the formalwear department back toward the main part of the store, they started encountering more customers, and someone jostled Athera’s elbow as they passed. 

Abelas placed his hand at the middle of her back. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She tensed. His hand on her back. His hand, Abelas’s hand: he was touching her. He was touching her! She’d thought he was annoyed at the clerk for assuming he was her boyfriend, but Nare had said that touching was the most important thing to pay attention to… 

A burst of fluttery nerves exploded in her belly, like a surge of excitement and fear — fear that maybe she was being an idiot again and misinterpreting things. Then Abelas leaned in closer to her ear. “Athera, are you all right?”

She unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Yep,” she squeaked. “Yep, I’m fine.”

He nodded. They continued toward the store exit, but his palm remained at the center of her back, like he was guiding and protecting her from any further jostling. By the time they were stepping back into the mall, her heart was racing and her belly was writhing with so much excitement and confusion and hope that it was nearly nauseating. 

They paused at the store exit. His hand finally left her back, and she gulped in a breath of air before looking up at him. “I’m, um. It’s too bad you weren’t able to find a blazer.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead briefly, and when he met her eye, his expression was faintly apologetic. “I… have a confession to make. I did not actually come here with the intention of purchasing a blazer.”

She blinked. “You didn’t?”

He shook his head. He looked uncomfortable now, and Athera’s confusion deepened. “So… so what did you come for, then?”

He ran his hand slowly over his hair, then folded his arms. “You will find out on Monday.” 

_Monday?_ she thought. “Did you come to get something for the office, then?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said.

“Okay,” she said slowly. This was oddly cryptic for him. He was usually so literal. Then she shrugged and tucked her hands in her pockets. “Well then, I guess I’ll wait until Monday to find out what the office surprise is.”

He wrinkled his nose slightly. “‘Office surprise’ sounds undignified.”

She smiled. “You think so? I kind of like it.”

“It sounds like a euphemism for a disaster,” he complained.

Athera laughed. “It does, doesn’t it? That’s what I’ll call it from now on if any of the computers crashes. Or if someone uses the last coffee pod without telling me to order more.” She waved her hands dramatically. “‘Oh no! Another office surprise!’”

He smiled faintly, and his smile made her heart lift. She shyly dropped his gaze and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, I guess you have to get going, then. And I have to meet up with the girls and Felassan.”

He nodded slowly, then straightened. “I will accompany you.”

She perked up. “Really? I thought you were in a rush.”

“I have been told that there is value in taking a break sometimes,” he said. 

His expression was soft once more, and her stupid infatuated heart squeezed with hope. To think he was actually taking her words to heart… it touched her more than she could say.

She beamed at him, then nodded. “Okay. Let’s go find the others.” She headed in the direction of the Black Emporium, and Abelas fell in beside her — or rather, just slightly behind her as though to guard her, and his protective posture lifted her foolish hopeful heart even more. 

Maybe she wouldn’t need to murder Nare after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Nare POV! Because she was totally, definitely texting Tamaris while Athera and Abelas were talking. [Spoiler alert: she was not.] 😇
> 
> I am [PikaPika on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/), and your artist and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	29. Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert! 🔥

###  NARE 

Abelas was approaching them, and Athera was staring at Nare as though she’d just kicked a puppy.

Nare ignored Athera’s big betrayed eyes and smiled at Abelas as he stopped in front of them. “Good morning, Professor Abelas,” she said politely.

“Good morning, Nare,” he said. Then his gaze slid over to Athera. 

“Athera,” he said softly.

 _Ha. He definitely likes her,_ Nare thought in satisfaction. His expression hadn’t changed when he looked from her to Athera, but his voice sounded different when he said Athera’s name — gentler than his usual businesslike tone. 

Athera and Abelas were staring at each other. Nare stepped away from them and pulled out her phone. “I’m going to text Tamaris,” she said brightly. “I’ll just be over here.”

Athera shot her an _I’m-going-to-murder-you_ look, but Nare pretended not to see as she looked down at her phone. There was a message notif on her lock screen, and when she flicked open her messaging app, her heart flipped. 

The messages were from Solas, sent about five minutes ago.

_Solas Sat Oct 3 10:41 a.m.  
Good morning, Nare. I apologize for the late reply; I was drawing. _

_Solas 10:41 a.m.  
What are your plans today?_

Nare forced herself not to smile. She had texted him this morning before setting out to the mall with the girls, so he must already have been in the zone.

_Nare 10:47 a.m.  
Good morning professor! What were you drawing? I’d love to see!_

_Nare 10:47 a.m.  
I’m dress shopping with A+T right now. Or I should say they’re shopping with me really_

She minimized the app and flicked over to Instagram, not expecting a reply from him if he was busy drawing. A few seconds later, however, his reply appeared on her screen.

_Solas 10:47 a.m.  
Dress shopping? _

_Nare 10:47 a.m.  
Yeah remember how I said I wear my red dress too often? I want a new one lol_

_Solas 10:47 a.m.  
That is a shame. I am quite fond of that red dress._

_Fond, huh?_ she thought mischievously. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard; she knew what she wanted to say in response, but she probably shouldn’t write it while Abelas and Athera were right within view.

She shot them a furtive glance. Athera seemed to be scolding Abelas about something, and he was looking mildly chastised – quite the achievement for Athera, considering that Abelas was a foot taller than her.

Nare smirked, then tapped out her risqué message to Solas.

_Nare 10:47 a.m.  
Would you be more fond of it on the floor of your bedroom?_

_Solas 10:47 a.m.  
Most certainly. I hope one day to have the opportunity to put it there myself._

A flush of warmth swelled between her legs, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling like an idiot.

_Nare 10:47 a.m.  
I think I can make that happen. With your permission professor_

_Solas 10:47 a.m.  
You have my unequivocal permission._

She gazed adoringly at his messages. She could practically hear them in his calm and controlled voice, and gods, how she missed that voice.

They hadn’t spoken since their usual meeting in his office on Thursday morning. That meeting had been anything but usual, however; to Nare’s great delight, it had culminated in them making out heatedly on Solas’s lovely leather couch. Nare had desperately wanted to fuck him, but she could tell that he was trying to resist the particular temptation of having sex in his office – a temptation that he’d been wise to resist in the end, given that Merrill had knocked on the door, bringing their heated clinch to an abrupt end. 

Abrupt ends seemed to be the theme of the week for Solas and Nare, unfortunately. After their leisurely Monday morning painting-and-fucking session at his apartment, they’d barely been able to spend any time together this week. On Tuesday after Solas’s seminar, Nare had hoped to find an excuse to ‘meet’ with him in his office, but another student beat her to the punch, forcing her to leave the classroom rather than lingering to talk… although a lengthy session of sexting later that night had taken the edge off of her desperation for him, and had gone a long way towards convincing him to leave work early on Wednesday so they could sneak back to his apartment for some fast and furious sex. Nare had to hurry home before Athera finished work, however, so she and Solas had once again been pulled apart by the trickiness of circumstance. 

Thursday had heralded that blissful but short makeout session in his office, followed by a disappointing lack of communication on Friday. Solas was forced to catch up on the work he’d been neglecting in favour of their sneaky carrying-on, and Nare had hoped to talk to him after girls’ night, but by the time she had returned to her bedroom past midnight, Solas had already texted her to say goodnight.

Another text pulled her from her wistful thoughts.

_Solas 10:48 a.m.  
I hesitate to ask this, but where are you doing your shopping today?_

_Nare 10:48 a.m.  
We’re at the Heartlands Mall! Why hesitate to ask?_

His reply was slightly delayed. When it finally appeared, Nare’s heart leapt.

_Solas 10:49 a.m.  
I am at the Heartlands Mall as well._

_Nare 10:49 a.m.  
Right now??_

_Solas 10:49 a.m.  
Yes._

She stared at her screen, lightheaded with excitement. He was here in the same place as her? So close by? She wanted to see him so badly. But she had come here to shop with the girls…

Torn by guilt and eagerness, she nibbled her lip as she typed out a reply.

_Nare 10:49 a.m.  
What are you doing here?_

_Solas 10:49 a.m.  
I am buying art supplies. Fenor got into some mischief this morning. She knocked a cup of coffee onto my supply of cardstock. _

_Nare 10:49 a.m.  
Naughty Fenor! 😹_

_Solas 10:49 a.m.  
Ha, yes. But it’s not entirely unfortunate. I had been planning to purchase some watercolour pigments for my studio, so this was the excuse I needed to make the trip._

_Nare 10:49 a.m.  
Watercolour pigments? But you don’t work in watercolour!_

_Solas 10:49 a.m.  
I don’t. But you do._

She stared breathlessly at his message. He was buying art supplies for her? For his studio in his apartment? Supplies just for her to use in his home? That was… that felt important. That was important, right?

Her heart felt like it was going to burst with fondness. Spurred into recklessness, she typed out a message.

_Nare 10:49 a.m.  
Where are you? I want to see you_

_Solas 10:49 a.m.  
I don’t want to distract you from your purpose. You came with Athera and Tamaris._

_Nare 10:50 a.m.  
Tam and Felassan are off on their own somewhere and Athera is talking to Abelas right now_

_Solas 10:50 a.m.  
Felassan is here? And Abelas?_

Belatedly she realized that it might have been a bad idea to tell him his closest friends were also at the mall. But it was too late to backtrack now.

_Nare 10:50 a.m.  
Yeah but F+T are off wandering around somewhere and honestly Athera needs a kick in the butt to make a move on Abelas. It’s for her own good if I ditch her with him _

_Nare 10:50 a.m.  
I’m just being a good friend if I leave them on their own 😇 _

_Solas 10:50 a.m.  
That is very altruistic of you, Nare._

_Nare 10:50 a.m.  
I’m a very good girl_

_Solas 10:50 a.m.  
You certainly can be, yes._

_Oh gods,_ she thought desperately. She could so easily imagine him murmuring those words in her ear.

_Nare 10:50 a.m.  
Well? Can I meet you?_

_Nare 10:50 a.m.  
Please professor_

_Solas 10:51 a.m.  
All right. I am at the Black Emporium._

She blinked in surprise. The Black Emporium was a very odd place. It was a huge department store spanning several floors, and each floor was weirdly organized, making it easy to get lost. Despite the store’s huge size, the dark decor and warm dim lighting gave the impression of an intimate space, like stepping into a private lair.

In some ways, it made sense that Solas was there; you could find anything you were looking for if you spent long enough searching. But he probably would have found what he was looking for more easily if he’d just gone to a regular art supply store. 

“Nare?” 

She looked up from her phone to find Athera looking at her expectantly. “Are you ready for Bonny Sims?” she asked.

Nare swiftly gathered her wits and smiled. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to run over to the Black Emporium quickly, there’s a sale that looks really good.”

Athera’s eyes widened. “Wha— wait, we’ll come with you!”

Behind her, Abelas frowned. “Athera, I can’t—”

Nare jumped in before Athera or Abelas could say any more. “Go with Abelas,” she said encouragingly. “I’ll meet you when I’m done. Or you can text me and come to the Black Emporium.”

Athera narrowed her eyes, and Nare grinned. She knew she was inviting a litany of complaints from Athera when they got home, but if it meant she could see Solas _and_ that Athera would have some alone-time with Abelas, it was completely worth the inevitable rant. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay? Later!” She turned away before Athera could protest and made a swift beeline for the Black Emporium.

As she weaved her way expertly through the crowd, she sent another message to Solas.

_Nare 10:53 a.m.  
I’m on my way! Where should we meet?_

_Solas 10:53 a.m.  
I am still in the art supply section on the second floor. But it was a bit difficult to find. Go to the women’s formalwear department on the third._

_Nare 10:53 a.m.  
The women’s formalwear department?_

_Solas 10:53 a.m.  
You came to buy a dress, did you not?_

Her anticipation rose. She smiled giddily to herself as she replied.

_Nare 10:53 a.m.  
Are you going to help me pick a dress?_

_Solas 10:54 a.m.  
If you like. Though I would remind you that you are alluring no matter what you wear. Or don’t wear, as it were._

_Nare 10:54 a.m.  
Sweet talker ❤ I’ll see you soon!_

She tucked her phone into her coat pocket and hurried to the Black Emporium as quickly as she could without running. A couple of minutes later, she was stepping off of the escalator on the third floor.

She glanced around furtively; Solas wasn’t here. She made her way toward the women’s formalwear department and slowed down near a random rack of dressy tops, then started shuffling slowly through them without really looking at what she was doing. 

She waited for what felt like ages, her jittery excitement only growing with every passing moment. When she finally spotted him stepping off of the escalator, her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her ribs.

He looked perfectly gorgeous, as always. He was dressed casually in a dark brown peacoat over a fitted oatmeal-coloured sweater with his usual messenger bag slung across his shoulders, and his lips were curled in a tiny smile. 

She forced herself not to beam at him. Instead, she molded her face into an expression of surprise. “Solas!” she said. “Hi!”

His smile widened slightly. “Nare,” he said politely. “This is a surprise.”

“It really is,” she said blithely. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying art supplies, as it so happens,” he said. “Then I thought I would purchase a new scarf, seeing as I am already here.”

She raised her eyebrows in genuine surprise. “A new scarf?”

He pointed up and to the left. Indeed, a small sign indicated that the men’s outerwear section was also on this floor.

She couldn’t help herself; she grinned at him. Convenient that he now had a plausible reason to be on the same floor as her.

He shot her a quick smile, then smoothed his face back into a pleasantly neutral expression. “What are you searching for today?”

She forced herself not to laugh. With their hilariously contrived conversation, it was almost like they were playing a role-playing game. “I’m looking for a dress,” she said. “I have this red one that I want to replace.”

“Ah,” he said. “Are you looking to replace it with a new red one?”

“No, actually,” she said. “Felassan suggested looking for something in blue or blue-green.”

Solas’s eyebrows rose. “Did he?”

“Yes, he pointed out that it would be a nicer contrast with my hair.”  
Solas nodded slowly. “He is correct. Those colours would bring out the sunset tones of your hair.”

There was a softness to his voice now, and her heart fluttered. She forced herself not to show it as she nodded. “Yeah. So I’m, um, looking for something in blue or green. I tried on a few dresses at other stores already and had no luck, so I… I thought I’d try here.”

“I see,” he said. He glanced around. “Did you come shopping on your own?”

She carefully maintained her own neutral expression as she replied. “No, I came with friends. But they ran into other friends, so I’m on my own just for now.” She tilted her head. “If you’re not busy, I’d love a second opinion. I can be really indecisive.”

“All right,” he said. “If you trust my opinion on the matter of clothing.”

She smiled playfully. “I’d trust you more if you were a woman, but you’ll have to do.”

He huffed in amusement and rubbed his chin. “I suppose that is fair. All right. Lead the way, Nare.”

She sidled through the formalwear section toward the dresses, feeling ridiculously happy about Solas’s company. She smiled at him as she trailed her fingers over an elaborately sequined dress. “So why did you come here for art supplies? Wouldn’t it be more convenient to buy supplies from a regular art store, or the school’s art department?”

He scoffed. “From the school? Convenient, yes — at an enormous markup. More importantly, this store imports supplies from Arlathan.”

Nare looked at him with fresh surprise. “They do?”

“Yes,” Solas said. “In fact, it is the only place in Orlais that carries art supplies from home.” He gave her a small smile. “I’m afraid I am something of an elitist when it comes to my paints and brushes.”

“And your cardstock?” she said teasingly. “Arlathani cardstock only?”

He chuckled. “No, I am flexible about the cardstock. Canvas, however, I will also only purchase from here. Arlathani weaves are typically finer and less textured.”

She immediately understood. “And that’s way better for a smooth blended style like yours.”

“Precisely.” He bowed his head to her. “You learn quickly, Nare.”

 _I’m a very good student,_ she thought, but she resisted saying it. It seemed that Solas knew what she was thinking, however; a spark of heat flickered across his face before his placid expression returned.

He looked away from her and studied some of the dresses on display, then pointed at a lapis blue dress displayed on the wall. “How do you feel about that one?” 

She raised her eyebrows. “That’s really nice, actually. Yeah, I’ll try that.” She looked around at the racks until she found the dress Solas had pointed out, then selected two different sizes to try. They wandered among the racks for a few minutes longer, with Solas helping her to select two more dresses, and with every minute they spent together, Nare felt more and more charmed by him: the dresses he pointed out were all in styles that she could easily imagine wearing, and he was trailing around with her so patiently, like the perfect boyfriend. 

A wistful feeling twisted her heart, but she pushed it away and smiled at him. “Okay, I think I’ve got enough choices now.” She widened her eyes innocently. “Would you mind giving me your opinion while I try them on? Usually the girls would help me with this, but since they’re not here…”

“All right, if it will help,” he said mildly. “Perhaps you can help me select a scarf afterwards, to return the favour.”

“Of course,” she chirped. She led him toward the changeroom, and as they walked, she could feel her heart picking up speed. Solas coming to the changeroom with her — the changeroom where she’d be taking off her clothes while he sat just outside of the stall… It was a tantalizing thought. And two of the dresses she’d picked had zippers at the back. Maybe she’d need his help zipping them up or down…?

A bubble of excitement simmered low in her belly. A minute later, they were stepping into the changeroom area. 

The unisex changerooms at the Black Emporium were decorated similarly to the rest of the store: the walls were a deep eggplant-purple, and the changing stalls were closed off by heavy floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains instead of doors, muffling the conversations of the customers to a muted susurrus. There was a lush velvet-upholstered couch in the middle of the changing area for helpers such as Solas to sit and wait. The lighting was better here than in the main parts of the store, provided both by an ornate chandelier overhead as well as faux sconces on the walls, yet still dimmer than the average store. 

Nare had always found the decor to be unusual; wouldn’t they want the store to be better lit so people could properly see what they were buying? Now, however, as she and Solas sidled into the changing area, she realized just how, well… how _sexy_ the decor was. 

A tingle of warmth came to life between her legs. Then a harried-looking clerk came over to her. “Hi,” she said. “How many items?”

“Six,” Nare said. She gestured at Solas. “Is it okay if he waits here—?”

“Sure, yeah,” the girl said hurriedly. “He can sit and you can use that stall, it’s empty…” She pointed vaguely at one of the open stalls, then hurried over to another empty stall and began clearing out the rejected clothes.

Nare turned to Solas, who looked way more composed than she felt. “Thanks again for doing this,” she said.

“I am happy to help,” he said, and he seated himself on the couch. “Take your time.”

She swallowed hard. He wasn’t doing anything special, just sitting there on the couch with his legs casually spread and his palms resting comfortably on his thighs, but Nare felt herself getting wet just looking at him. There was something about the way he was holding himself, the calmness of his voice and the confidence in his manner, that reminded her of the way he behaved when they were alone at his apartment and he was telling her what to do. 

He idly tapped his thigh, and Nare’s heart jumped. She knew he hadn’t tapped his thigh as an invitation, that it was just an idle gesture, but her mind instantly conjured the memory of him patting his thigh and commanding her to sit in his lap. 

“Nare?” he said.

She tore her gaze away from his thigh. He was watching her with his head slightly tilted, looking so calm and curious, and his impression of control instinctively made her want to kneel in front of him.

She hastily stepped away from him. “Yep, I — I’ll be in there.” She pointed stupidly at the open stall, then stepped into it and pulled the curtain shut.

She exhaled slowly and rubbed her chest. Fuck, she needed to calm down. She was going to drive herself into a frenzy if she didn’t get her libido under wraps. 

She quickly stripped down to her bra and panties, then paused and looked at herself in the mirror. There was a visible damp spot on her panties, and she wilted slightly when she noticed it. It was a good thing she wasn’t trying on any pants. 

She took another deep breath and let it out, then turned to her selection of dresses. She picked the lapis-blue one: a short-skirted dress with three-quarter sleeves and a simple tie at the waist. She swiftly put on the dress, then smoothed out her wavy hair and stepped out of the stall.

She shyly met Solas’s eye. “What do you think?” 

His gaze trailed slowly over her body, and she forced herself not to shift restlessly in response. Then he nodded. “Turn around?” he said.

His words were delivered as a question, but Nare could only hear it as a command. She ignored her pounding heart and turned in a slow circle, and when she was facing him once more, she demurely smoothed out the skirt. “So?” she said. “Any thoughts?”

“You haven’t yet said what _you_ think,” he said.

She smirked. “I wouldn't have come out of the stall if I hated it.”

Solas huffed in amusement. “That is understandable.” He sat back on the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee, and a rush of heat surged through her body; he looked so casual now, _very_ much like he did when they were alone at his apartment, and the way he was looking at her was making her feel a lot more naked than she actually was. 

He draped his arm over the back of the couch and glanced casually to the side, and Nare followed his gaze; there were two other customers in the changeroom, a pair of girls who were in a deep discussion over a pair of jeans. Then Solas looked at Nare once more and lowered his voice. “I especially like the length of this dress,” he said quietly, and his eyes dropped to her mostly-bare legs. 

She smiled cheekily at him. “The lack of length, you mean,” she said, equally quietly. 

The corners of his lips twitched. Then he lifted his chin. “Turn around once more for me.”

 _Fuck,_ she thought excitedly. That was exactly the kind of thing he would say when they were at his apartment, and the look in his eye… He knew exactly what he was doing to her. Teasing her in public when there was nothing she could do about it?

 _Mean professor,_ she thought delightedly, and a hot surge of desire swelled in her chest. When Solas raised his eyebrows expectantly, she quickly turned around so her back was facing him.

She purposely arched her spine a bit and glanced over her shoulder, and she was satisfied to find his gaze fixed on her ass. He stared at her for a moment longer, then lifted his eyes slowly back to her face. 

“May I see the next dress?” he asked.

His tone was mild and his question was polite, but it did nothing to hide the hunger in his face. Helpless to do anything but obey him, Nare nodded and stepped back into the stall, then pulled the curtain shut. 

She took off the lapis-blue dress and stared at herself in the mirror again for a moment. Damn it, her cheeks and ears were getting flushed. Now she was starting to understand how Athera must feel to blush all the time when Abelas was around. 

She took a couple more deep breaths, focusing on her breathing instead of the beating pulse between her legs, then selected the second dress: a sleeveless one that was similar in colour to her eyes, with beading along the neckline and a zipper at the back. 

She stepped into the dress, then wrestled the giddy smile off of her face and poked her head out of the stall. “Solas,” she said, “can you help me with the zipper for this one? I would ask the changeroom girl, but she’s really busy…”

“Certainly,” Solas said, and he rose from the couch and approached her. Then, to her surprise and thrill, he stepped into the stall with her and pulled the curtain shut. 

She stared at him with rising excitement and just a bit of nerves. “Are you sure you want to come in here?” she whispered.

“The changeroom is empty at the moment,” he murmured. “Turn around, Nare.”

His words were an unequivocal command now, and they instantly triggered a flush of heat from her throat down to the apex of her thighs. She turned around to face the mirror, and Solas stepped up behind her. 

He lifted one hand and began gathering her hair to the side. Nare breathed shallowly, wishing desperately for his fingers to brush over her skin, to no avail; he was careful and deliberate as he gathered her hair, as though he was purposely doing everything in his power not to touch her directly, and it was enough to make her want to beg.

But she didn’t beg — she couldn’t beg, not while they were here in public where they could be heard. Instead, she avidly watched his face in the mirror as he gathered her hair. His gaze was fixed on the back of her neck as he pushed her hair over her shoulder, and as soon as her nape was exposed, he wet his lips. 

She shifted restlessly. His eyes darted up to meet her gaze in the mirror, and she froze. 

His wolfish side was showing. There was a clear and obvious hunger in the cant of his head and the heat in his stormy eyes, and for a long, incredibly tense moment, they just stared at each other in the mirror.

Then he dropped his gaze to her back and began pulling up the zipper of her dress.

Nare exhaled slowly and arched her spine. Behind her, Solas exhaled as well, and a shiver ran down her spine as the warmth of his breath fanned across the back of her neck. 

He finished zipping her up, then stepped back and sat on the small padded stool in the corner, and Nare pretended to ignore him as she studied her reflection. The dress was pretty, but now that she was wearing it, it wasn’t as much her style as she’d originally thought. The skirt was more slim-fitting than she liked, and the beading along the neckline that had originally caught her eye looked a little cheap. 

Behind her, Solas crossed his ankle over his knee once more. “It nearly matches your eyes,” he said quietly.

She turned around to face him. “Is that good?”

“Of course,” he said. “Your eyes are a beautiful colour.” 

She beamed at him, but he was still talking. “The lightness of the blue, however…” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “What occasion is this dress intended for?”

“Dates, mostly,” she said. “Or parties. Special events, but not super-fancy ones necessarily.”

He nodded slowly. “The shade of blue doesn’t quite suit those occasions. It feels too bright. Something darker may be better.”

“That’s what I was thinking too,” she said. She tilted her head coyly. “I sure am glad I ran into you by accident. You’re being really helpful.”

He gave her a chiding little smile, and Nare nearly laughed. He shook his head in amusement, then stood up once more. “I am happy to oblige. Shall I see the last one now?”

“Of course,” Nare said, and she turned around so Solas could unzip her. 

He carefully began pulling the zipper down, and Nare’s excitement continued to rise. When her dress was unzipped, she would take it off slowly, peeling it down and shuffling it off of her hips so she would be almost naked for Solas — almost naked while he was fully clothed and watching her with that hungry look on his face… 

By the time her zipper was undone, her pussy was throbbing with want. But to her dismay, Solas shifted away from her. “I will step out to give you some privacy,” he said. 

“Wait,” she blurted.

His eyebrows rose, and she swallowed hard. She didn’t _want_ privacy, not from him. She wanted privacy for the both of them together, but not _from_ him.

“Y-you can stay,” she stammered. “You don’t have to step out.” 

He cocked his head to the side, and Nare’s belly flipped with excitement. There was a hint of reproof in his face now, and she knew what that look meant. 

She knew and loved this look on his face. She knew what he wanted her to say.

She humbly lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, professor,” she whispered.

For a split second, his face became absolutely heated before smoothing back into a calm expression. “You are forgiven,” he murmured. He sidled over to the curtain and peered into the main changing area for a moment, then stepped out of Nare’s changing stall, leaving her alone.

She closed her eyes for a moment to try and gather her wits. Her whole body felt like it was tingling, from her cheeks all the way down to her toes, and she was so wet that she could feel the slipperiness starting to spread to the inner margins of her thighs. Honestly, if she’d known she was going to run into Solas here today, she would have brought a spare pair of panties with her.

She shook herself mentally, then turned to the final dress she’d picked, and the one she had purposely saved for last: a deep forest-green dress with a flowy knee-length skirt, a sweetheart neckline, and a low-cut back that was open to just above the small of her back. This dress also zipped up at the back, but it was a short zipper that Nare could do up by herself. 

She wasn’t going to admit that, though. 

She shot her reflection a cheeky smile. Then, boldly, she took off her bra and placed it on top of her other clothes. _It’s a backless dress,_ she thought. _Don’t want my bra to show._ She took the dress off of the hanger and stepped into it, then peered around the curtain.

She could hear the soft murmur of voices in the other changing stalls, but Solas was alone in the main area of the changeroom. She met his eye and smiled. “Can you help with the zipper again?”

He nodded and joined her in the stall once more, and she turned around so her back was facing him. His gaze dropped to the uninterrupted skin of her naked back, and she watched in the mirror with great satisfaction as his eyebrows rose. 

He met her gaze in the mirror, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe; his luminous blue-grey eyes were incandescent with heat. 

She swallowed hard, then quietly answered his unspoken question. “It’s a low-backed dress,” she explained. “I don’t want my bra to show.”

“I see,” he murmured. He pulled up the zipper, then carefully pushed her hair over her shoulder again. But this time, his thumb grazed the back of her neck. 

It was the gentlest touch, barely a touch at all, but a bolt of heat rushed straight to her groin all the same. Her breath hitched in a tiny gasp, and Solas sighed softly.

His breath ghosted across the back of her neck, and Nare pressed her lips together hard to stop herself from making a sound. The warmth of his breath on her skin, the touch of his thumb, the way he was staring at her: he seemed totally enraptured by the exposed span of her back, almost as though he’d never seen it before, and Nare watched his handsome face with rising anticipation. His lips were slightly parted as he perused her body, and she _wished_ he would use those perfect parted lips on her. She wished Solas would step closer to her and press his lips to her shoulder, press his hips into her ass, press her whole body against the mirror and push up the skirt of this dress and pull her panties to the side…

 _Please,_ she thought desperately. She stared pleadingly at him in the mirror, but he wasn’t meeting her eye; he was still studying her back and her ass, and his expression was growing more fierce by the second.

Finally, at long last, he lifted his gaze and met her eye in the mirror. “This one,” he said. “This is the dress I like the most.” 

A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine. His voice was assertive and just a little bit guttural, and she wanted him to talk some more. She wanted that rough and guttural voice talking in her ear — no, growling in her ear, telling her filthy fantasies as he curled his fingers around her throat and smoothed his hand over her bare bottom… 

She swallowed hard. “Mine too,” she breathed. “I… I like this one too.”

He nodded. Then he trailed his fingers down the length of her spine. 

She gasped, stunned and thrilled by his unexpected touch. Then his palm was smoothing over her hair. “Quiet, Nare,” he murmured. “You must be silent.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, desperate to obey him. If she didn’t obey him, he would step out of this changing stall and leave her here alone, and if Solas left her alone, she genuinely thought she might collapse into a puddle on the floor. 

He stepped closer to her and lowered his lips to her ear. “Turn around,” he said quietly.

She eagerly turned to face him. He tipped her chin up with two fingers, and she gazed adoringly into his beautiful blue-grey eyes, her heart pounding her throat and her cheeks and between her legs as she waited breathlessly for him to speak or act. Was he going to give her a command? Was he going to describe the sensual things he would do to her? Spirits, _please_ , was he going to kiss her?

But Solas did none of those things. Instead, he studied her face for a long moment — long enough that Nare began to feel jittery. But not a scared sort of jittery: a good, excited sort of jittery, brought on by the undeniable tenderness in his heated eyes. 

He brushed his thumb gently over her chin. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

He was looking at her so tenderly, with so much warmth and fondness, and her heart squeezed with a nearly-painful surge of affection. “So are you,” she whispered back.

A broad smile bloomed across his face. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips brushed lightly over hers before gently coaxing her into a careful open-mouthed kiss, and Nare closed her eyes and floated blissfully in the pleasure of his kiss. 

Before she was anywhere near ready for the kiss to end, Solas released her chin and stepped back. “Are you going to purchase that dress?” he asked.

She released her breath and nodded. Even if it hadn’t been Solas’s favourite, it was certainly hers. “Yes,” she said. “I really like it.” She tilted her head playfully. “Thank you for helping me pick it.”

He nodded. “You are most welcome, Nare.” 

She smiled at him, and a beat of silence passed — a beat during which neither of them moved, and Nare’s heart thumped with hope. He wasn’t making any moves to leave her changing stall, so maybe… maybe some of her rampant fantasies could come true, after all?

A fresh flood of excitement pulsed in her clit, but she kept her manner casual. “Well, I guess I’ll change back into my own clothes now,” she said. “Can you help me with the zipper?”

“No,” he said.

She blinked. “No?”

He shook his head. “No,” he repeated. Then, to her delight, he seated himself on the padded stool in the corner once more.

“Take the dress off,” he said. “Slowly.”

She gaped at him, shocked but thrilled by how bold he was being. If he was giving her commands, then… then if she was very good and did what he told her, would he reward her? 

_Fuck,_ she thought excitedly. _Fuck please, yes._ The thought of Solas rewarding her, Solas praising her for being so good and doing what he said: the possibility was so tempting that she could almost forget they were in a public dressing room. No, not forget, but just not care. 

Heart pounding, cheeks warm, she reached behind herself and slowly unzipped the dress. Then, without breaking from Solas’s hotly focused gaze, she began peeling the dress off. 

Her shoulders were bared first, followed by her breasts. Nare shifted and arched her back sinuously as she slid the dress down over her hips, her eyes steady on Solas’s face all the while, and by the time the garment was pooling at her feet, his expression was so intensely focused that she was finding it hard to breathe. 

Solas shifted on the stool and widened his legs, and Nare’s eager gaze dropped to his crotch; his erection was a noticeable ridge in his trousers. He leaned forward slightly and lifted his chin. “Hang up the dress, Nare,” he murmured.

She stepped out of the dress and turned around so her back was to him, then bent down to pick up the dress, purposely arching her spine and showing off her ass as she did. Behind her, Solas let out a soft hiss of breath.

“ _Veraisa,_ ” he whispered. 

She shot him a mischievous smile as she hung the dress. He shook his head slightly, then stood up from the stool. “Are you trying to tempt me, Nare?”

She widened her eyes innocently. “Tempt you to do what, professor?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, and her excitement rose even higher. Then he took a small step closer to her. “Are you tempting me to touch you?” he said in a very quiet voice.

She nodded eagerly. “Yes,” she whispered.

He tilted his head. “Yes, what?”

She grinned at him — she couldn’t help it, she was so giddy! — then demurely dropped her gaze. “Yes, professor,” she said.

“Good,” he murmured. “Put your hands on the mirror.” 

_Fuck yes,_ she thought excitedly. She stepped closer to the mirror and placed her palms on its cool surface, and Solas slowly prowled behind her. 

“Impertinent vixen,” he said quietly. “You have been quite rude, Nare.”

“I was not,” she said — impertinently.

His eyes flared with heat. Then he folded his arms. “I could leave right now,” he said. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” she blurted quietly. “I-I mean — no, professor.”

He nodded once and took a small step closer to her. Then, when he was standing right behind her, he reached around her body and placed his palm on her abdomen.

Her lips fell open with longing. His hand was resting right at the base of her ribs, not high enough to touch her breasts nor low enough to be anywhere near her pussy, but the mere feel of his palm on her bare skin was enough to bring her entire body to red-hot thrumming attention. Her nipples were puckered buds begging to be pinched, and her groin was swollen and slick with need, and the heat of Solas’s palm was the trigger for all of this – the simple unmoving trigger for the flood of sensation that would surely bring her to her knees if she wasn’t braced upright by the mirror beneath her palms.

He lowered his lips to her ear. “Listen carefully, Nare,” he murmured. “Do not move your hands, and do not make a sound — unless you want me to stop.” For a moment, his tone grew gentle. “If you want me to stop, you must tell me right away. Is that clear?”

“Yes, of course,” she breathed. 

He nodded, then lowered his voice even further. “You must be completely silent. If you make any other sound aside from the word ‘stop’, I will leave right away. Do you understand?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yes, professor,” she whimpered. 

“Good,” he murmured. Then, slowly, his hand began to slide down her belly. 

She dragged in a convulsive and _silent_ breath. His palm was warm, leaving a tingling trail of heat on her skin as it shifted over her navel and below, and by the time his little finger was brushing over the waistband of her panties, she was so desperate for him that it felt like a physical ache in her throat and her chest and the palms of her hands. 

She breathed erratically through her parted lips and curled her hips toward his hand, and his fingers slid lower still, but not _inside_ of her panties. Instead, he began caressing her through the damp fabric, and she almost mewled out loud at the torturous sensation. He was teasing her purposely, giving her a hint of pleasure while withholding the pressure that was required to bring her to her peak, and there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t push his hand into her panties and she couldn’t beg; she couldn’t moan or whimper or gasp. All she could do was twist her hips with increasing fervour as his teasing fingers toyed with her clit through the barrier of her only remaining garment. 

She pressed her lips together and shifted her posture so her legs were parted a little more. Behind her, Solas let out a slow breath that fanned hotly across the back of her neck. “You tempt me far too much,” he whispered.

She nodded eagerly, and Solas let out a soft little laugh — a soft, velvety, knowing little sound that made her pulse ratchet even higher between her legs. Then his fingers abruptly slipped into her panties. 

He smoothed his finger over her clit, and she gasped — or she would have gasped, if Solas’s other hand wasn’t suddenly covering her mouth. 

He pressed himself against her back, pressing her closer to the mirror, and Nare stopped breathing. His hand over her mouth, his body crowding hers, the coolness of the glass against her nipples, the heat of his hand moving between her legs: it was too much, too much sensation, too much pleasure that she was being forced to bear in silence thanks to the far-too-pleasurable feeling of his hand covering her mouth…

She moaned into his palm and pushed her ass back against the hardness of his groin, and he grunted softly in her ear. “Vixen,” he accused softly. “You must be still and quiet.”

He was stroking her gently, a slow light rhythm over her clit that was only making her more desperate for a firmer touch, and Nare stared unseeingly at the mirror as he played her body with his elegant painter’s fingers. Then he spoke very softly into her ear. 

“You have been very disobedient today,” he said. “I should not be rewarding you right now.”

 _Rewarding me?_ she thought incredulously. This wasn’t a reward. His hand between her legs when she wanted his tongue? Her entire body throbbing to ride his cock when he was fully clothed? His fingers touching her gently, slowly, teasingly when she wanted him to fill her up? This wasn’t a reward. This was torture.

Solas was still talking in her ear, talking in a low and silk-smooth voice that only tortured her all the more. “I should be punishing you. You defied me, you tried to command me, and you talked back to me. Twice.”

She shook her head slightly in denial. When Solas’s fingers tightened slightly on her face, the resulting rush of excitement made her dizzy. 

“No?” he whispered. “You’re denying your defiant behaviour?”

She nodded. Solas huffed softly in her ear, then started pulling his hand out of her panties.

 _No,_ she thought in a panic. _No, no please._ She dragged in a sharp breath through her nose and clenched her nails against the mirror and twisted her hips, anything she could do to protest the abandonment of his hand, please, she _needed_ his fingers on her body—

He slid his hand back into her panties and petted her clit, and she jolted and pressed her spine against his chest. Then he nipped her ear with his teeth.

A whimper settled in her throat, and she ruthlessly quashed it. His fingers moved smoothly between her legs, and then he was speaking in her ear once more. “I know you want me to fuck you.”

A dizzying rush of desire tore through her body. Meanwhile, Solas was still whispering in her ear. “You are painted with the evidence of your desire,” he told her. “Your body is begging for me to lay claim to you.”

She nodded and curled her hips toward his hand. His quiet words, his clever fingers, the dominant posture of his body as he pressed her against the mirror: all of it was conspiring to bring her pleasure higher, to push her toward her peak, the peak she’d been circling from the second he’d laid his hand on her body.

“I know what you want, Nare,” he crooned. “You want me to take you to bed and strip you bare, and to fuck you so well and so thoroughly that you can barely walk.”

She sobbed helplessly into his palm and nodded. That was exactly what she wanted, and gods, she wished so badly that she could have him right _now_.

Solas hummed thoughtfully in her ear. “I’m afraid that can’t happen.” 

She gazed desperately at Solas in the mirror. He met her eye, and the smugly wolfish look on his face made her heart pound with want. 

His voice dropped to a deep and guttural growl. “You have been very bad today. And I can only fuck you if you have been a very good girl.”

That was it. _That_ was all he needed to say. His fingers playing over her clit, the look on his face, his fucking _words_... Her climax surged through her, shivering through her limbs and her fingers and her cheeks, so sudden and strong that it made her ears ring. 

She shuddered and arched back into the solid heat of Solas’s body. He released her mouth, then turned her face toward him and kissed her.

His tongue slipped sinuously into her mouth, and Nare eagerly licked and nipped his tongue, desperate to taste and take any part of his body that he would deign to give. She thrust toward his hand and suckled his tongue and nipped at his lips, and when he moaned softly into her mouth, it lifted her pleasure even higher.

He continued to kiss her, and his fingers continued to slide over her clit in a gentle circular swirl. Gradually, carefully, his fingers slowed and gentled, and his kiss grew more gentle too until he was doing little more than caressing her lips with his. By the time her climax had ebbed away, she was feeling boneless and dreamy with bliss.

Solas carefully peeled his lips away from hers, then turned her around so she was facing him. He gently squeezed her arms and ran his palm over her hair and her back. “Are you cold?” he murmured. “You must be cold.”

His eyes were warm and his expression was so tender, and Nare gazed besottedly at him. “When can I come over again?” she asked. 

His smile widened, and if Nare had her wits, she might not have been quite so forward. But she was half-drunk on the pleasure of Solas’s fingers between her legs, and she… gods, she just wanted to be with him so badly. 

Thankfully, he seemed to feel the same way. “Would tomorrow suit you? If you can find an excuse—”

“Yes,” she said instantly. “Yes, absolutely. When?”

“Whenever you are able,” he murmured.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll text you to let you know when.”

He nodded and traced her jawline with his thumb, then leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. She swayed toward him happily and rested her palms on his chest as they kissed, and by the time they reluctantly leaned apart once more, her just-sated desire was thrumming to life again. 

He lowered his hand from her neck and stepped back. “I should be going,” he said. He looked genuinely regretful, and it warmed her heart to think he was as torn by their parting as she felt. 

“You should,” she agreed as she reached for her bra. “Fenor will be wondering what kept you so long.”

Solas scoffed quietly, and she grinned at him as she started getting dressed. “Get going, professor,” she urged. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shook his head in mock reproof, and Nare giggled softly. He peered around the curtain for a second, then met her eye once more. “Until tomorrow, Nare,” he murmured, and then he was gone.

She grinned goofily as she finished getting dressed. When she looked in the mirror to smooth out her hair, she noticed something bad: her handprints on the mirror.

She grimaced, feeling a little guilty, then used her sleeve to wipe the mirror clean. She quickly finger-combed her hair and used a tissue to tidy up her makeup, then selected her new dress — the dress that Solas was so fond of, she thought smugly — and slid open the heavy velvet curtain.

The changeroom clerk was in another stall tidying up a pile of discarded clothes, and her eyes widened as she saw Nare. “Oh, you’re still here? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s great,” Nare said, and she held up the dress. “I’m getting this one.”

“Awesome,” the girl said distractedly. “Okay, have a good one…” She bustled into Nare’s stall and started picking up the leftover dresses, and Nare was torn between feeling embarrassed and feeling like she might burst out laughing as she made her way to the cashier.

She got into the cashier line and pulled out her phone, and her stomach plummeted. She’d missed nineteen messages from the girls.

_Athera 11:14 a.m.  
Nare I am gonna murder you when we get home! 😤🤬😩_

_Athera 11:14 a.m.  
I hope you enjoyed your short life because I’m going to END IT!!!_

_Athera 11:28 a.m.  
We’re coming over to the Black Emporium now!_

_Tamaris 11:30 a.m.  
Black Emporium? I thought you were going to Bonny Sims_

_Tamaris 11:30 a.m.  
What did Nare do to piss you off lol_

_Athera 11:31 a.m.  
She went to the Black Emporium on her own so we’re meeting her there!_

_Tamaris 11:31 a.m.  
Wait you’re pissed at her for going to the BE?_

_Tamaris 11:31 a.m.  
Who is ‘we’ if she’s not with you_

_Athera 11:31 a.m.  
Oh sorrysorry! I’m with Abelas! _

_Tamaris 11:31 a.m.  
What why?? How did that happen_

_Athera 11:32 a.m.  
He was shopping and we ran into him! We went to Bonny Sims while Nare went to the BE_

_Tamaris 11:32 a.m.  
Felassan says to tell him ‘on dhea lethallin’_

_Athera 11:32 a.m.  
Abelas says hello 😂_

_Athera 11:32 a.m.  
We’re here btw! Just outside the cafe on the 1st floor_

_Tamaris 11:32 a.m.  
Ok see you soon_

_Tamaris 11:36 a.m.  
Nare where the fuck are you_

_Tamaris 11:36 a.m.  
Athera’s getting hungry, it’s danger time lol_

_Athera 11:38 a.m.  
Seriously Nare are you okay???_

_Fuck,_ she thought guiltily. She’d completely forgotten to text the girls.

_Nare 11:40a.m.  
I am so so sorry!!! I’m just in line, I found a dress! I’ll see you guys really soon!_

_Athera 11:40a.m.  
Oh that’s awesome! Does that mean we can get lunch now?? 🥺🙏_

_Nare 11:40a.m.  
Yes yes let’s get lunch! Wherever you wanna go! Do you want to go to the food court or to an actual resto?_

_Athera 11:40a.m.  
I don’t caaaare 😩 Felassan is making fun of me for being hangry 😭_

_Nare 11:40a.m.  
Tell Tamaris to pinch him! 😂_

_Athera 11:40a.m.  
I’ll tell her to PUNCH HIM 😤😤😤_

Nare chuckled, then stepped forward to pay for her new dress. A couple of minutes later, she stepped off the escalator and hurried toward the cafe on the first floor, where Athera and Tamaris were waiting with Felassan and Abelas, and—

Her heart stopped. Solas was with them. They were standing with Solas.

A rush of panic prickled through her limbs, and she forced herself not to show it. _It’s fine,_ she thought. _It’s fine, it’s fine. There’s no reason anyone would think we ran into each other here. Just pretend nothing happened._

She took a deep breath to calm herself down, then hurried over to join them. “Hey, sorry to keep you guys waiting, so sorry!” She smiled at Solas, whose expression was perfectly neutral and pleasant. “Solas! What are you doing here?” 

“I was purchasing art supplies. And yourself?” His eyes dropped to her garment bag.

“A new dress. This is why we’re here, actually.” She laughed breezily and was proud of herself for how casual she sounded. “Mission accomplished!”

“Yeah, without our help,” Tamaris said wryly.

“Yeah,” Athera chimed in. “I’m kind of sad I didn’t get to see it!”

Nare felt a pang of guilt. “Don’t be sad,” she urged. “I’ll show you when we get home.”

Felassan tilted his head. “Is the dress blue?”

“Green, actually,” Nare said. “But I’ll give you credit for the colour.”

He smiled and bowed his head politely. “Thank you, Nare. It’s nice to be appreciated.”

Abelas gave him a curious look. “You suggested the colour?”

“I did indeed,” Felassan said.

“Why?” Abelas asked.

“To be helpful, of course,” Felassan said. “Being helpful is my key trait.”

Abelas and Athera both scoffed, then looked at each other in surprise and quickly looked away. Solas smiled faintly and rubbed his chin, and Tamaris huffed. “Nice try,” she said to Felassan. “Your key trait is being a clever brat.” She squeezed his hand — his hand, Nare noticed with great interest, that she was holding. 

He widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Clever? Look at you, flirting with me in front of all of these people.” 

She _tsk_ ed and bumped his arm. “I said clever _brat_.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak up,” he said cheerfully. “I can’t hear you with all the noise.”

Tamaris rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and Nare couldn’t help but smile as well at how happy Tamaris looked. 

She looked up and met Solas’s eye, then quickly looked at Tamaris again. “So, um, so now you’ve met Solas and Abelas!” she said hastily, hoping she didn’t sound suspicious. 

“Yeah,” Tamaris said. She glanced at the two men, and Nare could _swear_ that her expression cooled a bit when she looked at Solas.

Her nerves jumped. Why was Tamaris looking at Solas like that? Before she could think too much about it, Athera did a little hop and clapped her hands. “Ooh, I just had an idea! Should we go for lunch together?” she chirped. “Since we’re all here?”

Tamaris wrinkled her nose slightly, but Felassan shrugged and tucked his free hand in his pocket. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Abelas frowned. “I can’t. I have yet to finish my errand.”

“Can you do it after lunch?” Athera asked. 

His frown grew deeper. “I have work waiting for me at home. I should get back.”

“What if we go for a really quick lunch?” Athera said. She widened her eyes, and Nare watched with growing amusement as Abelas’s stern expression grew uncertain. 

Then Felassan spoke up. “Abelas doesn’t change his plans on the same day. Isn’t that right, Abelas?”

“Precisely,” Abelas said quickly. “I prefer not to change my plans.”

Athera frowned. “But you’ve changed your plans before.”

He looked down at her and raised one eyebrow. “Under forceful persuasion, yes.”

Athera blushed for some reason, and Solas clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid I can’t spare the time, either. This shopping trip was a bit of an accident.”

“What do you mean?” Felassan said. 

Solas smiled wryly. “A mess was made while I was in the middle of a drawing session.”

“A mess?” Felassan said. Then he snorted. “It was Fenor, wasn’t it?”

Nare smiled, and Felassan looked at her. “Has he told you of his badly behaved cat?” 

Her gut twisted with nerves. _Fuck,_ she thought, but she maintained her smile as she replied. “Yeah, he’s mentioned her before.” She glanced casually at Solas, whose face was an admirably smooth and pleasant mask. 

He nodded. “Nare has been subjected to tales of Fenor, unfortunately.”

Felassan chuckled. “Oh, Fenor. Also known as Abelas’s greatest admirer.”

Abelas scowled, and Athera’s eyebrows jumped up. “Greatest admirer?”

“Yes,” Felassan said with a grin. “Solas’s cat is extremely fond of Abelas.”

“Aw, really?” Athera cooed. “That’s so…” She trailed off and glanced at Abelas, then awkwardly rubbed her nose. “That’s, um, that’s sweet.”

Tamaris huffed in amusement. “The feeling doesn’t seem mutual.”

“It is not mutual, no,” Abelas grumbled.

Felassan snickered. “That’s what makes it so hilarious.”

“Fur all over my clothing is not hilarious,” Abelas complained.

Solas gave him a chiding look. “I suggested that you should stop wearing black when you come over. You never listen.”

“ _Elgar’em shala’em_ ,” Abelas muttered.

Felassan and Solas laughed, and the three girls exchanged smiles. Then, feeling a little as though she was on thin ice, Nare waved her hand dismissively. “Okay, whoever wants to come for lunch, let’s go before Athera gets any hangrier.”

Tamaris snorted and Felassan laughed, and even Abelas smiled faintly. Athera, meanwhile, was sputtering. “Hey, come on, that’s so—! Okay, fine, you’re right, but you don’t have to put me on the spot.”

“But putting you on the spot is so deeply amusing,” Felassan said.

Athera wrinkled her nose at him. He chuckled and draped his arm around Tamaris’s shoulders, and Abelas took a step away from them. “All right. Farewell, then.” 

Athera gave him a pleading look. “Are you sure you can’t come? A break is good for you.”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Not today, Athera,” he said gently. “Forgive me.” 

“You will have to forgive me as well,” Solas said apologetically. “I would like to return to my art. But you’re right,” he said to Athera, “we should gather together at a planned time. I’ve been meaning to have a start-of-the-year get-together for our lab.”

Athera brightened. “Really? That will be so fun!”

Felassan tutted at Solas. “Excuse me, I think _I_ suggested that to you last week.”

Athera elbowed him. “Be quiet, you.”

“Yeah, Felassan,” Tamaris said, and she poked Felassan in the belly. “Stop picking on Athera.”

“Yeah!” Athera said. Then she frowned. “Wait, does that mean you think he won the argument? Because he definitely didn’t win.”

“Yes, I did,” Felassan said complacently. 

She gave him an affronted look. “No you didn’t!”

Abelas cleared his throat loudly and addressed Solas. “When will the get-together take place?”

“Perhaps next Saturday evening,” Solas said. “I will check with Merrill and the others, but would that suit all of you?”

Nare, Felassan and Athera nodded, and Abelas narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I’ll check my schedule when I get home, but I think that will work. Will you be hosting the get-together as usual?”

“I was planning to, yes,” Solas said. 

Nare’s stomach twisted, and she looked at Solas. “You host the get-together? At your, um, where you live?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, and he smiled faintly. “You can meet my troublesome cat who is so fond of Abelas.”

Abelas clicked his tongue in annoyance. Tamaris smirked, and Felassan and Athera started joking around about Abelas and Fenor’s friendship. Nare smiled, but she was distracted now by the thought of going to Solas’s apartment with everyone else. She’d have to act as though she’d never been to Solas’s apartment before? Like he hadn’t made her come multiple times in multiple ways in every room of his apartment?

 _Shit,_ she thought worriedly. Before she could think about it much more, Abelas was stepping away from them. “I must be going now. Farewell,” he said to their group. His gaze lingered on Athera for a moment, and Nare watched fondly as Athera’s cheeks pinkened slightly. 

Abelas turned and walked away, and Solas stepped back as well. “I wish you all an enjoyable afternoon,” he said. “Tamaris, it was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Tamaris said, but her expression was more appraising than warm, and Nare wasn’t sure whether to be anxious about this, or to just chalk it up to Tamaris’s usual reserve around people she didn’t know. 

Solas nodded politely to the rest of the group. “I’ll see you all next week. Goodbye.” He walked away, and Nare was torn between relief and disappointment at his departure.

She breathed slowly to calm her racing heart as they headed toward the mall’s Antivan restaurant, which Athera had declared herself in the mood for. Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed with a text.

_Solas 12:03 p.m.  
I look forward to hearing from you later._

The message was nothing special, but the fact that he’d sent it right after saying goodbye, like he wished he could have said a special goodbye to her…

Her heart fluttered, and she swiftly typed out a reply.

_Nare 12:03 p.m.  
Yep I’ll text you ❤️ _

_Nare 12:03 p.m.  
Thank you again for the help!!_

_Solas 12:03 p.m.  
It was my pleasure, Nare. 🙂_

An emoji. He’d sent an emoji. He’d picked the most bland and innocuous emoji to go along with the most heavily subtext-laden message.

Nare couldn’t help it: she grinned. Then Athera looped her hand through her elbow. “You’re hungry too, right?” she said plaintively. “It’s not just me who’s cranky?”

Nare quickly dropped her phone back in her pocket and smiled at Athera. “Sorry, it’s just you who’s cranky. I am starving, though.”

“Okay, good,” Athera said. Then she wrinkled her nose. “You’re the worst, by the way. Leaving me with Abelas like that? So mean!”

Nare laughed. “It was kind of mean, I’ll admit. But you had a good time in the end, right?”

“I suppose so,” Athera said grumpily, but her cheeks were turning a telling pink.

On Athera’s other side, Felassan spoke up. “I think it was an inspired move, Nare. Nicely done.” 

Tamaris snickered. “Yeah, throwing Athera to the wolves is real nice.”

Felassan laughed, and Athera and Tamaris continued to pretend-argue and joke about running into Abelas, and Nare smiled and laughed as well. But half of her mind was on Solas, and on the thought of going to his apartment tomorrow and getting the delicious punishment that he’d wanted to give her today.

His apartment, which she’d have to pretend she had no familiarity with when he hosted that lab party next weekend. 

A jolt of nerves — and of almost-hysterical amusement — plucked at her heart. _This is going to be trouble,_ she thought ruefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen, thanks as always to FenxShiral (and canon):  
> \- _On dhea, lethallin_ : good morning, friend.  
> \- _Elgar’em shala’em_ : a mild curse meaning ‘spirits save me’. Similar to ‘for goodness’s sake.’
> 
> Next chapter: Felassan POV, I think. Maybe. 😅 I haven’t written it yet, but that’s what’s in my outline! And yes, the next "arc" is going to be everyone together at a dinner party. LOL RIP Nare. 😂
> 
> In all honesty, writing may slow down a bit because I started playing _The Witcher 3_ (blame Elbenherz!!), but I will be doing my best to keep up the two-chapter-per-week semi-schedule!
> 
> We are [Pikapeppa](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [Elbenherz,](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) two bad girls who love three ancient elves. 😂❤


	30. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art! Open at your own risk. 👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail Elbenherz for the gift of PORN IN COLOUR this week. I have been hoarding this like a goblin for weeks and am SO EXCITED to finally share. 😭❤💦🙏

###  FELASSAN 

Felassan opened his apartment door and gallantly gestured for Tamaris to enter. “Please, come in. Beauty before wisdom.”

She snorted and stepped past him into the apartment. “Aren’t you mixing your metaphors?”

“How so?” he asked, and he kneeled down to untie his shoes.

“I think it’s ‘age before beauty’,” she said as she kicked off her boots. “Or ‘youth before wisdom’.”

“Well, neither of those will do,” he said. “I’m older than you, but only just. And you’re far more beautiful than me.”

She laughed, and he waited cheerfully for her to tell him he was full of shit, but she surprised him. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “You’re pretty fucking handsome.”

He grinned up at her. “Why, Tamaris. Was that an unbarbed compliment I heard?”

She smirked and flicked his ear. “I can stick to the barbed ones if you want, you handsome brat.”

“That’s more like it,” he said. “I would feel unmoored without your fiery tongue to keep me on my toes, you know.”

She scoffed and sauntered down the short hallway into his apartment, and he padded into the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said. But instead of joining him in the kitchen and sitting on the counter as she usually did, she wandered into the living room and started prowling around.

At least, ‘prowling’ was the best word Felassan could conjure for what she was doing. She was wandering slowly around the living room with her arms folded, gazing at his paintings on the wall and peering at his collection of Blu-rays and games and trailing her fingers over his TV, and her pretty face was creased with a faint but thoughtful frown. 

He studied her fondly from the corner of his eye as he made the coffee. He could guess as to what was making her act so restless, but he wouldn’t press her about it. 

It was a happy surprise that she’d admitted that she wanted to be in a relationship with him, and he suspected that the confession had come as something of a surprise to her as well. Oh, he’d been confident that she would eventually admit that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, but he hadn’t expected it to happen in a public place with people all around after he’d finished telling her about his less-than-squeaky-clean past. He suspected that Tamaris hadn’t really expected to confess her feelings today, either.

Not that she’d confessed her feelings, exactly. But she’d told him he was worth the risk, and coming from Tamaris, this was huge. She was so incredibly guarded when they met, and even though she’d been growing more comfortable with him over the past few weeks, she still needed time apart from him sometimes. For her to say he was worth the risk — that she was willing to try and trust him, even though she had no good reason to do so? That she _wanted_ to trust him, despite his confession that he’d been less than trustworthy in the past? 

It was a huge concession for her, he knew. Even if he didn’t know all the details of why exactly it was such a big concession. So if she needed to prowl around his apartment like a nervous cat getting used to a new environment while she processed her feelings, he would happily let her prowl.

He switched on the coffeemaker and leaned back against the kitchen counter. “So what did you think of Abelas and Solas?”

She looked up. “Hm?”

“Abelas and Solas,” he said. “You have faces for their names now. What did you think?”

“I met them for like five minutes,” she said. “It was barely enough to make a first impression.”

“First impressions can be incredibly telling,” he said.

“And misleading,” she pointed out.

“Very true,” Felassan said. “Still, indulge me. I’m curious to know what you thought.”

She clicked her tongue. “I’m biased from everything I’ve heard about them.”

“Which makes me all the more curious, now that you have met them yourself,” he said.

She gave him a flat look, then sighed and stopped her prowling. “Fine. Well, Abelas is obviously whipped for Athera.”

Felassan burst out laughing, and Tamaris smiled as she went on. “I don’t know how she doesn’t see it. She’s not usually this oblivious, I’m telling you. But yeah, he’s soft for her.”

“You’re pleased about that,” Felassan said.

“Honestly? Yeah,” Tamaris said. “The way she first described him, I was worried that he’d… I don’t know, that he’d push her too hard at work. She’ll work herself until she’s sick if she’s not careful, so I was pretty worried.”

“You’re not worried anymore?” he asked.

She lifted her shoulders. “I mean, I’m not going to base his entire character off of meeting him once, but I’m not as worried anymore, no.” She smirked. “I won’t have to assault him with my housekeys. Yet.”

Felassan chuckled, then gazed at her more seriously. “When you say Athera would work herself until she’s sick… that’s not a figure of speech, is it?”

Tamaris’s expression sobered. “No, it’s not. I…” She paused and gave him an appraising look.

He tilted his head. “What is it?”

She studied him for a moment longer before speaking. “It’s just… I’m trying to decide what to tell you.”

“You’re under no obligation to tell me anything,” he assured her.

Her posture softened, and she shrugged. “I know. I just… I want to tell you things.”

She wasn’t looking at him now; she was gazing at his paintings and the frown was back on her face, and her simple sentence was heavy with things she had yet to share with him. 

He casually turned to the coffeemaker and started pouring two mugs of coffee. “You can tell me whatever you like in your own time, Tamaris. I hope you know that.”

She looked at him once more, and her expression was soft in a way that squeezed his heart. “Yeah,” she said quietly. Then she shrugged, almost like she was trying to shed her own thoughts. “Anyway, um, what I was thinking with Athera, she… well, she’s open about it, so I can tell you this much. She was taken to the hospital more than once for… I mean, not to get into details, but it was related to working too hard and not taking care of herself.” 

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Ah. No wonder she and Abelas gravitate towards each other.”

“What do you mean?” Tamaris asked.

“Abelas works far too hard,” Felassan said seriously. “Not to the point of illness, but Solas and I have had concerns. We still have concerns, to be honest.”

“Well, if anyone can make him loosen up, it’s Athera,” Tamaris said confidently. “She’s all about work-life balance now.”

“Sounds like exactly what he needs,” Felassan said.

She raised one eyebrow. “He better be what she needs, too.”

“And what does she need, in your opinion?” he asked.

She smiled, then let out a little laugh. “Honestly? She needs someone like those guys in those fucking dramas she loves so much. The devotion, the campy romantic gestures, all that shit.”

Felassan grinned at her, then started laughing, and Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I think you’ll be happy,” he said. “That’s all I’ll say.” He approached her and handed her a mug of coffee, which she took with a smirk.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she said. She curled up on the couch while Felassan put on a movie they’d both seen several times before for background noise.

He sat beside her and draped his arm along the back of the couch. “That’s Abelas, then. What did you think of Solas?”

Her expression became guarded. “He seems nice.”

Felassan smirked. “Come now, _avise_. That’s not all that you think.”

She gave him a frank look. “Fine. I’m… kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop with him.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows. That was an interesting assessment. “Go on.”

She shrugged and sipped her coffee before speaking. “He seems nice. Polite, friendly, nice manners… he seems nice.” She gave Felassan a pointed look. “But he gave you the silent treatment for six months because you refused to do what he wanted, even though you guys are like brothers.”

Felassan understood. “Ah, so that’s why you were giving him the evil eye.”

Her eyebrows jumped up. “I wasn’t… oh fuck, was I?”

He laughed. “You were.”

“Shit.” She made a face and dragged her hand through her hair. “Oh well, whatever. I’m shitty at making first impressions, so we’re equal.”

“I disagree,” Felassan said. “My first impression of you was a very good one.”

“Come on, it was not,” she scoffed.

“It was,” he insisted. “You were utterly intriguing.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “So intriguing that you refused to fuck me.”

“And look where that heroic refusal has brought us,” he said cheerfully.

She smiled at him, then huffed a little laugh and looked away. “Uh-huh. All part of your master plan, huh?”

He watched her fondly as she sipped her coffee, then gently squeezed her shoulder. “Tamaris.”

She glanced at him. “Yeah?”

“You are not a mark, you know.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

“You are not a mark,” he said seriously. “And there has never been any master plan.”

Her face went slack with surprise. “No, I — I know. I was just kidding.”

“I know you were,” he said softly. “But I want you to know that it has never been my intention to manipulate you into being with me. And I know that words such as these are easy to say, and far more difficult to enact. But I wanted you to hear them anyway.”

Her catlike green eyes were wide. When she eventually spoke, her tone was tentative. “I… I wasn’t even thinking that. That you’re… manipulating me.”

He gave her a crooked little smile. “And are you thinking it now?”

“No,” she said, to his surprise. “Not really. I mean, well… you said yourself that charm is a kind of manipulation, and you have been pretty fucking charming,” she said with a tiny smile. “But I don’t…” She trailed off and frowned thoughtfully at him. “When you say sweet shit, you aren’t trying to be charming with me.”

“Are you asking, or making a statement?” he said.

“Making a statement,” she said. “You say what you mean with me.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

She nodded slowly, then shot him a little smile. “It just so happens that the things you say sound good when you say them.”

He smiled slowly at her. “They sound good, you say?”

She smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” She tapped her fingernails idly on her mug, and Felassan watched her with a swelling of affection in his chest as she gazed idly around the room, looking at everything but him. 

He waited quietly and patiently for her to meet his eye once more. When she finally did, a shiver of warmth bloomed deep in his belly; her forest-green eyes were intense somehow. 

She quirked an eyebrow. “What, nothing clever to say?”

“Not right now, no,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” she said.

“Because I’m otherwise occupied at the moment.”

“Occupied with what?” 

“Looking at you,” he replied.

Her eyebrows rose slightly, and he watched as she swallowed. Then she broke from his gaze and tapped her mug again. “Uh-huh. And what are you seeing?”

“Someone worth waiting for,” he said softly. 

She looked up once more to meet his gaze. Her eyes were wide and her expression open and unguarded, unusually and breathtakingly unguarded, and she was all the more beautiful for how… how _trusting_ she looked. 

He gazed unflinchingly into her eyes — these eyes that he had become so shamelessly enamored with over the course of the past five weeks. These gemlike green eyes that he had seen narrowed with suspicion and crinkled with laughter and glazed with mindless lust, eyes that had seen hardships that he still wasn’t privy to, eyes that were world-weary but still searching for hope — eyes that he had seen growing less jaded and more joyful with every passing week.

Felassan gazed into Tamaris’s emerald-green eyes, and he waited patiently for her to speak. But when she finally broke from his gaze, it wasn’t to speak.

She reached over and placed her coffee cup on the table. Then she took his cup from his hand and placed it on the table as well. 

He smiled faintly at her but didn’t speak, and a tiny smile curled her lips as well. She shifted a little closer to him, close enough that her knees were touching his thigh. 

Then she reached out and took hold of his t-shirt. 

She tugged his shirt, and his smile broadened. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, and she kissed him. 

He dreamily closed his eyes. Tamaris’s kiss was soft today, and more careful than usual somehow — more slow and gentle than he was used to receiving from her. Her kisses were usually firm, a sweet firm peck on the lips or a deep and urgent kiss when they were heatedly making out. But today, her kiss wasn’t firm. Today, Tamaris’s kiss was soft and sweet, marked by gentle presses and pulls of her plump lips and butterfly-light laps of her tongue, and Felassan happily gave himself over to the softness of her kiss. 

She gently tugged his lower lip with hers, coaxing his lips apart to carefully lick his tongue, and the flicker of heat in his belly rose like a well-stoked fire. The slide of her tongue against his, the hot slick feeling of her lapping at his tongue: it felt so raw, so intimate, like a visceral reminder of how it felt to have his own tongue gracing the intimate parts of her body in such a way, and he was suddenly eager to reciprocate. 

He slid one hand into her hair, brushing his thumb along her jawline as he did, and Tamaris broke their kiss with a gasp. But Felassan barely allowed her to gulp in a breath before kissing her once more. He smoothed his fingertips along her scalp and gently nipped her tongue, and her fingers twisted hard in the fabric of his shirt. A moment later, she was straddling his lap and sliding her palms down his chest. 

He cradled her neck in one hand and pulled gently at her hair with the other, and she moaned into his mouth and clenched her fingers on his abs. Riled by the sound of her and the feel of her hands and the sweet embrium scent of her hair, Felassan stroked her neck and her jawline before breaking their kiss to brush her lower lip with his thumb. 

Her tongue darted out to lick his thumb, and his breath stalled in his lungs. She tilted her hips down to meet his groin, and the pressure of her body against his cock drew a groan from his throat.

“Ah, _isalan ma_...” he groaned.

She tugged his shirt again. “I want to go to your bedroom,” she breathed.

His heart leapt, and he looked at her in surprise. They had never gone to his bedroom before. Ever since he and Tamaris had started dating, all of their time had been spent in the main rooms of his apartment: the kitchen, the living room, even his office, but his bedroom had remained notably out of the mix. 

It wasn’t Felassan’s intention to keep Tamaris out of his room; he would have gladly taken her there at any other point if she’d asked. But ever since the first time he’d brought her to his apartment, they’d done all their fooling around on his couch. After she’d fled his apartment that first time, Felassan was careful to give her the lead in whatever carnal activities they got up to. She had never asked to go to his bedroom, so he’d never brought it up either. 

To have her bringing it up now, though, especially with what had transpired between them today: the things he’d confided to her, and her acknowledgement of the bond between them? This was significant — very significant. And without Tamaris saying it, Felassan knew what it meant. 

A rush of undeniable excitement flooded his body, and he patted her thigh. “Up you get, then,” he murmured. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

She swiftly slid off of his lap, and Felassan rose with her. Before she could take a step away, however, he pulled her close with one hand on her hip and kissed her hard. 

She gripped his arms and pressed herself against his body and parted her lips for his tongue, and he joyfully savoured the heat and flavour of her mouth. When she whimpered and dug her nails into his arms, he reluctantly peeled his lips away to smile at her. 

“Forgive me,” he said huskily. “I couldn’t resist. You taste so deliciously bitter.”

“Bitter?” she asked breathlessly. 

He grinned. “The coffee.”

She stared at him for a second, then blurted a little laugh. “Uh-huh,” she drawled, and she took a step back from him. “Well, I can think of something sweeter for you to taste.”

He laughed delightedly. “You minx,” he accused. “You really are trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

She shot him a mischievous grin, then sidled around his coffee table and sauntered down the hall to his bedroom. Felassan eagerly followed her, watching the hypnotic sway of her hips all the while. She paused in front of his closed bedroom door and looked at him expectantly, and he admired the wide dark circles of her pupils for a moment before opening the door.

Just as he had done earlier, he gestured gallantly for her to enter. “Beauty before wisdom.” 

She snorted a laugh and poked his chest. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

“Stupified, more like,” he said. “Such is the impact you have on me.”

She grinned at him. “You rogue.” 

He grinned helplessly back at her and reached out to pull her close, but she stepped back and held up a hand. “Hang on,” she said. 

He stopped and waited, eager to touch her but curious to see what was on her mind. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and then, without any preamble, she pulled her shirt over her head. 

His heart thumped, and his cock pulsed in his pants. She started unbuttoning her jeans, and Felassan avidly watched her nimble fingers as her fly came undone. She started pushing her jeans down, and by the time she was wearing only her panties and bra, his body was throbbing with want. 

He stared shamelessly at her, admiring the swells of her breasts and the golden curves of her waist and the telltale spot of dampness at the apex of her thighs, thrilled by the sight of her and the pounding roar of desire in his blood. It wasn’t like this was the only time he’d seen her get undressed; he had seen her more naked than this, in fact, with only her panties or only her bra. But it wasn’t just her state of undress that was driving his need. It was the way she was looking at him. Her expression was serious and so intense, her eyes dark with desire but somehow luminous at the same time, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest gave her an almost edgy feel — edgy or jittery, he couldn’t quite decide. 

He studied her carefully. It wasn’t just her chest rising and falling that gave her a jittery look. It was something else. He studied her face and hands for a moment, then realized with a heart-wrenching jolt what it was. 

He took a tiny step toward her. “Are you nervous?” he asked.

Her eyebrows leapt up, then creased into a frown. “No. Why do you think that?”

“You’re trembling,” he said. 

She recoiled slightly. “No I’m not.”

“You are,” he said gently. 

She stared at him for a second, then exhaled loudly. “I’m — I’m not — I don’t mean to be. I just… fuck.”

He stepped closer and smoothed his hand over her hair. “Tamaris, we don’t have to have sex,” he said softly. “There is no rush. I mean that genuinely.”

She wilted. “But I want to.”

“I know you do,” he said. “But we can wait.”

“I don’t want to wait,” she snapped. “I want — I fucking want you. It’s just — it feels…”

He tilted his head quizzically, and she sighed and folded her arms defensively. “It feels important, okay?”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

“No,” she said. She looked away from him and glanced around the room, and he watched with an aching sort of affection as her idle gaze slid from the bed to the bedside lamp to the dresser in the corner.

He waited patiently, and she finally looked him in the eye once more. “I haven’t let anyone be important in a long time,” she said bluntly. 

He gently squeezed her shoulder. “I know.”

“But you don’t know,” she burst out. “You don’t know everything, because I’ve — I haven’t told you.”

“Do you want to tell me now?” he asked.

“No,” she said. She lifted her chin and gave him a belligerent look. “What I want right now is to fuck you.”

Her word provoked an instinctive roar of heat in his belly, but he ignored it; he couldn’t pay attention to it, not when Tamaris looked so ambivalent. “We can take it slow,” he assured her. “There is no rush—”

“I don’t want to take it slow,” she burst out. “I’m fucking sick of taking it slow. I’m—” She broke off and took a deep breath, then gave him another adorably belligerent look. “I’m ready,” she told him. “I want this. I want _you_.”

His chest squeezed with fondness. Her words were sweet but her manner was so brusque, and he didn’t know why he found the juxtaposition so charming, but he did. 

He stepped closer to her and affectionately skimmed his thumb over her cheekbone. “I want you too, _avise_. But there’s something you haven’t considered.”

Her frown softened slightly with worry. “What?”

He shrugged casually and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Maybe _I_ want to take it slow.” 

Just as he’d hoped, the worry in her face softened into a smirk. “What?”

“Maybe I want to take it slow. The blow jobs, the heavy petting…” He sighed dramatically. “It’s like being seventeen again, when everything is like one long drawn-out tease.” 

Her posture softened slightly, and she gave him a skeptical look. “So what, you like it that I’m a being a cocktease?” 

He gazed seriously at her for a moment. “That is not what you’re doing, and you know it.”

She shrugged and looked away. Undaunted, Felassan took another small step closer to her. “But since you’re asking: I do like teasing, yes,” he said. “If anything, you should tease me on purpose.”

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Are you fucking serious?”

He smiled slowly at her. “I am never more serious than when I’m talking about the sweet, sweet torture of truly being teased.”

She huffed, and he was pleased to see her lips curling in a smile. “Uh-huh.”

“You sound skeptical,” he said.

“I am,” she replied. “You actually want to be teased?”

He let out a faux-sad sigh. “Oh, Tamaris. So much cynicism for such a beautiful woman.”

“So much bullshit for such a handsome man,” she retorted.

He grinned, then sat on the bed and patted the mattress. “Come here. Join me.”

She sat beside him, and he smiled at her. “Now get on your knees.”

Her eyebrows jumped up, and he watched with satisfaction as her ears started turning pink. “Excuse me?”

“Get on your knees,” he said pleasantly.

She narrowed her eyes, but her lips were curling into a smile. Then she shifted into a kneeling position and sat back on her heels. “There. Happy now?”

“I will be,” he said. “But you might not.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What does _that_ mean?”

He smiled slowly at her. “It means I’m going to tease you, and you’re going to love and hate it. Take off your bra.” 

She lifted an eyebrow, but her interest was obvious in the brilliance of her eyes and the pinkness of her ears. Finally she scoffed. “Fine,” she said, and she reached behind herself to unfasten her bra. “But if I don’t like this, you’ll be sorry.”

He gave her a chiding look. “When have I ever touched you in a way that you don’t like?”

She barked out an incredulous laugh. “You are so fucking smug.” 

He grinned and stood up. “Hush now,” he said. “Just relax. And give me that.” He held out his hand for her bra.

She wryly shook her head. “For fuck’s sake,” she said, and she took off her bra and slapped it unceremoniously into his palm.

“Thank you,” he said, and he tossed it carelessly behind him. 

“Hey!” she complained. “That’s—”

Felassan stepped toward her and took her chin in a gentle grip. “Tamaris, stop talking,” he said. “Just relax.” 

She stared at him in silence, her eyes wide and undeniably eager, and Felassan felt an answering flush of heat thrumming through his blood. He lifted her chin slightly, and when she arched her spine in response, a ripple of excitement trickled through his belly to simmer between his legs.

He slowly ran his thumb over her chin. Then, very slowly, he stroked her lower lip with his thumb.

Her lips opened eagerly as though to permit him entry, and a memory rose to the front of his mind: the feeling of his cock sliding through her parted lips. The memory sent a spark of pleasure through his cock, and he breathed slowly through his nose to calm himself. Then, slowly, he slipped the tip of his thumb between her lips. 

Her breath caught in a tiny gasp. Her tongue darted over the pad of his thumb, and Felassan’s overeager cock pulsed again at the slickness of her tongue. 

_Fenedhis_ , he thought ruefully. This was going to torture him just as much as it would torture her. He pulled his thumb from between her lips and lowered his hand. 

She eagerly started to get off the bed, but Felassan held out a hand to stop her. “Don’t stand up,” he said. “Stay on your knees.”

She stopped moving and gave him a frank look. “Well, look who’s fucking bossy.”

Her tone was arch but her voice was distinctly breathless, and her expression was a perfectly beautiful mask of desire. He reached out and tucked a lock of curly hair over her ear. “And look who’s irritable,” he said silkily. “You must be horny.”

She scoffed and shifted restlessly. The movement drew his attention to her hips, then to her groin, then to the tantalizing dampness of the fabric that slipped between her legs…

“I’m not the only one,” she retorted. “I can see your cock through those jeans.”

He tore his eyes away from her wet panties to look her in the eye. “Good,” he said. “You can see what you’ll be getting, then.”

To his great delight, her expression blanked with surprise and hunger. She shifted on the bed as though to rise, and Felassan gave her a chiding look. “Tamaris, stay on your knees. Just let me tease you.”

Her face twisted with frustration. “Why do you want to do this?” she demanded.

“Because it feels good, of course,” he said. “Does it make you feel good?”

“Yes, obviously,” she said snarkily. “But what do _you_ get out of it?”

He gave her a chiding look, then stepped closer to the bed and gently stroked the side of her neck. “Do you really think I’m getting nothing out of turning you on?” he asked. He caressed her throat, then trailed his fingers teasingly along her jawline. “You think it’s entirely altruistic for me to touch you and talk to you, and tease you until you’re dripping wet and begging for me to make you come?”

She stared at him without speaking. Her collarbones were rising and falling now with her erratic breaths, and Felassan pretended valiantly not to notice as he brushed her collarbones with his fingers. 

“Do you think it’s just for your benefit that I’m making you so wet that my fingers will slide right into you?” he asked. Then he brushed his knuckles over the hard peak of her nipple.

She burst out a gasp and grabbed the hem of his shirt. Felassan abruptly gripped her chin and lifted it once more. “I assure you, Tamaris, I am very selfish,” he told her. “This is just as much for me as it is for you. Now will you relax and let me continue?”

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, okay? Yes.” She slid her palms under the hem of his shirt and tugged at the waistband of his jeans, and the muscles of his belly jumped taut at the touch of her fingers. 

He pinched her nipple, and she yelped and pulled her hands back. Then, unable to resist, he dipped his head low and kissed her.

He cradled her neck in his palms and hungrily licked her tongue, and she moaned into his mouth and stroked his shoulders and his chest. The movements of her hands were hungry and eager, fostering his own barely-leashed eagerness, and he had to force himself to break away from her before he gave into her entirely.

He broke from their kiss with a gasp and clasped her face in his hands. “Tell me if — if you want me to slow down,” he panted. “Just tell me, all right? Promise that you will tell me.”

“I will,” she gasped. “I promise, I will.” 

He nodded, then dragged in a bracing breath and stepped back from her. Then he roughly dragged his shirt off and dropped it on the floor. 

She straightened up like an attentive meerkat, and Felassan shamelessly admired her beauty for a moment. Her spine was arched and her dusky nipples were hard little pearls that he was dying to touch. Her thighs were parted wide, and that fucking damp spot her panties was driving him to distraction, making him want to tear the flimsy garment off and delve his fingers into her slick depths. But what he admired the most, more than her breasts or her curved hips or her torturously hidden pussy, was the look on her face. 

Tamaris’s face, the look on her lovely face: she was a perfect picture of unhindered, uninhibited desire. Her eyes were wide and practically glowing, the flush of her ears was spreading to her cheekbones, and her lips were parted as she panted for breath. He’d once painted a spirit of desire and he thought he’d done a decent job, but now as he admired this look on Tamaris’s face, he could happily admit that the sight of her staring at him like this was enough to put his painting to shame.

He padded slowly toward the bed. Tamaris reached for his waistband once more, but he caught her wrist before she could touch him. “Ah-ah,” he said playfully. “Hands to yourself. Move over.”

She _tsk_ ed in annoyance as she shifted back on the bed. “This bossing around seems fucking unfair,” she complained. 

“It does seem unfair, doesn’t it?” he said, and he crawled onto the bed to kneel behind her. 

She tried to twist toward him. “What are you—?”

He quickly swept her hair to the side and nipped her neck, and she broke off with a gasp. Then Felassan pressed his lips to her ear. “Stop talking,” he crooned. “Just relax.” Then he reached around her waist and placed his hands on her knees.

He slid his palms slowly up along the insides of her thighs, and she arched her spine and drew a deep breath. Felassan breathed with her, greedily inhaling in the fragrance of her hair, and when his palms were framing the apex of her thighs, he pulled her legs wider apart. 

She whimpered and rolled her hips, rubbing herself back against his groin as she did, and he exhaled shakily against her neck before brushing his lips over her ear. “I like when you’re spread nice and wide for me like this,” he purred.

She drew a shaky breath and nodded, and Felassan slowly smoothed his palms down her thighs toward her knees before sliding them back up again. “I like to think about you showing off for me, _avise_ ,” he murmured. “Showing me how nice and wet you are.”

“Mhmm,” she whined, and she ground her ass back against his groin.

A shock of pleasure pulsed through his body. He groaned and nipped her shoulder, and she jolted and made a tiny noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan.

Felassan pressed his lips to her ear once more. “Are you trying to tease me?”

“Uh-huh,” she breathed. “You said you l-liked it — _ah_ …” She broke off with a moan and arched her back, and for good reason: he was sliding one hand slowly up along her belly. 

She gasped and twisted her spine, pressing her breast toward his wandering hand. He framed her breast with his fingers, stroking the soft swell of her breast and purposely avoiding her nipple, then slid his hand back down over her ribs.

She moaned and wiggled her hips. Felassan caressed her thigh and glided his other hand back up her ribs, moving his fingers carefully closer to her nipple and to the heat between her legs, then purposely sliding his hands away once more.

She dragged in a breath and moaned more loudly. Then Felassan curled his hips toward her ass, and she let out a little cry. 

“Please!” she gasped. “Felassan, come on, please…”

“Please what?” he said playfully. “What can I do for you, Tamaris?” He traced his fingers very lightly along the edge of her panties, thrilled to find the fabric slippery and wet.

“Please just — fucking touch me!” she blurted. 

“I am touching you,” he said. He lightly stroked the inner margin of her thigh and brushed his thumb beneath her breast.

She whimpered and reached behind him to pet the back of his neck. “Touch me properly!” she whined.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Properly, you say? Like this?” He abruptly pressed his fingers firmly against her sex.

Tamaris cried out and jolted, and her nails bit into the back of his neck. He gasped in pain and bit the juncture of her shoulder and her neck, and she sobbed and writhed in his arms. 

“Felassan,” she mewled.

He didn’t reply, too distracted by the perfect fucking _feel_ of her: the silken skin of her bare back and the fullness of her ass and the tempting wetness between her legs — this perfect slick wetness that was soaking right through her panties to paint his fingers. Ah, imagine this slick wetness on his cock when she took him deep… 

His groin throbbed with longing, and he forced himself to breathe. _Just wait,_ he coached himself. He had waited for five weeks already, and if he had to, he could wait for more. For Tamaris, with her wanton writhing hips and her rare but perfect smiles and her blunt and honest tongue, Felassan would wait as long as he needed to. 

He carefully stroked her sex through her panties, rubbing her until she was panting erratically and thrusting against his fingers in a frantic rhythm. Then, without warning, he swiftly pushed her panties to the side and smoothed his fingers through her creamy heat.

She cried out and craned her head back against his shoulder. “Oh fuck,” she gasped. “Oh fuck, oh f-fuck… _please!_ ” Her final word left her on a breathless cry as he pinched her nipple. 

He rolled her nipple between his fingers and petted her clit until she was mewling in his arms, then pulled his hand out of her panties completely, and she sobbed and slumped back against his chest. “Felassan…” she whined. 

He kissed her sweat-laced cheekbone. “What is it, _avise?_ ” he crooned. “What do you need from me?”

“I need you to fuck me!” she blurted.

He smiled against her neck. “You need me to fuck you, now? That’s greedy. A moment ago you were begging me to just touch you.”

“Yeah, and you won’t do that either,” she snapped.

Amused by her irritation, he stroked her thigh and laughed softly in her ear. “That’s what teasing means, you know.”

She groaned and wriggled her hips. “I fucking hate it.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, gods, no…”

He smiled. “All right, I won’t. Since you asked so nicely,” he said mockingly. He stroked her nipple and caressed her clit through her panties, and when she slumped back against him once more, he savoured the scorching heat of her sweat-laced skin against his chest. 

She thrust toward his hand. “Felassan, come on…”

He caressed her breast, then slid his hand to her other neglected breast and thumbed her nipple. “Come where? Where would you like to go?”

She gasped and pressed her chest toward his hand. “You know what I — what I mean,” she panted. “I need more.”

“More what?” he asked.

“More touching!” she whined. “M-more… I just need more!”

“Like this?” he said. He slid his hand into her panties and ran his finger over her clit.

She whimpered and rolled her hips toward him. He carefully matched the movement of her hips with his fingers, stroking her clit with a smooth light stroke until she was rocking her hips frantically against his hand. 

She scrabbled for his other hand and gripped it hard as she fucked his fingers, and Felassan felt his heart rate ratcheting higher, the blood pounding in his ears and between his legs to match the frenzied rate of Tamaris’s desperate panting breaths and her desperately bucking hips. She gasped and clutched his hand against her chest and undulated against his fingers, and Felassan tensely held his breath as he stroked her. She was so obviously desperate to come, to find the pleasure of her climax against his obliging hand, and he was desperate too, desperate for the feel of her coming undone in his arms, too enraptured by her wanton passion to tease her anymore. 

She gasped suddenly and flung her head back against his shoulder. A guttural cry burst from her throat, and it streaked through his body like an electric shock: he was galvanized by her pleasure, his nerves thrilling with the sound of her enraptured cries, and when she writhed in his arms and rubbed her ass back against his cock, he groaned helplessly in her ear. 

She clutched his fingers and burst out a sob. “Please,” she begged. “Felassan, please, fuck me!” 

He dragged in a laboured breath before nipping the edge of her ear. “Listen to you, asking so nicely,” he breathed. “I’m almost inclined to grant your wish.”

She suddenly pushed his hands away and turned around to face him, and he barely had time to register the ferocity of his expression before she was kissing him. Her lips were ravenous and insistent, and he instantly parted his lips to give entry to her tongue. Her hands were rough and greedy, her fingers stroking his neck and sinking into his bound-up hair and clawing lightly at his chest to make him gasp, and then she was plucking at his jeans, pulling his fly undone and reaching inside—

She cupped his cock through his boxers, and he broke their kiss to gasp convulsively against her lips. Then she pressed her lips to his cheekbone. 

“I want you,” she breathed, and she rubbed her palm over the ridge of his cock. “Felassan, I want you. I want you right now.”

Her voice was husky with pleasure and her hand was still stroking his cock, but something about her tone made him realize how serious she was. He dragged in a breath to calm himself, then leaned away from her to look her in the eye. 

“Are you sure?” he panted. “Tamaris, we can wait—”

“No,” she said. She crawled closer to him and stroked his face with her free hand. “I’m fucking sick of waiting. I’m sick of — I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m sick of holding back. I’m—” She broke off and swallowed hard, and Felassan gazed at her with a heart-pounding mixture of tenderness and lust; her cheeks were feverish with desire, but her expression was fierce and serious, and he could tell that she was struggling to find the right words, even as she continued to stroke his cock. 

“I”m ready,” she said finally. “I’m ready for you, Felassan. I’m ready.” 

Her frown was so fierce, and her words were simple but earnest, and his heart felt like it was being squeezed by a warm hand. He nodded and slid one hand into her hair. “Okay,” he whispered. “All right. Show me what you want.”

She pushed his chest and tugged at his jeans, and he leaned back on his palms so she could pull them off. A rushed and clumsy moment later, they were both naked and she was shoving at his chest, urging him to lounge back against the pillows as she straddled his hips—

She rubbed her cleft over the length of his cock, and he stopped breathing. She was hot and dripping wet and slick, and the feel of her long-awaited heat gracing his cock was so fucking good that he could barely think.

She braced her palms on his abs and undulated over him, sliding her slick folds along his shaft and gracing him with her fragrant juices and making him more eager for the moment when she would finally take him deep and fuck him like she’d been begging him to do. He stared avidly at her, breathless with desire and pleasure and anticipation as she rubbed herself against him, watching her beautiful face as she rolled her hips down to rub against his cock… 

He narrowed his eyes. She was watching him carefully, and her lips were curled in a smirk. And suddenly he realized what she was doing. 

“Are you teasing me?” he asked incredulously.

Her smirk widened into a grin, and she patted his abs. “You said you liked it.” She rubbed against him again, and he burst out a breathless laugh.

You terrible minx,” he groaned. “I can’t believe you’re using my own game against me.” He curved his fingers around her hips and thrust toward her, but she gripped his forearms and lifted herself slightly higher on her knees so he couldn’t rub against her. 

“Tamaris,” he moaned. “Have mercy.”

“Giving up already?” she panted. “What’s wrong, don’t you love and hate this at the same time?”

She was grinning at him so cheekily even as her face was feverish with lust, and he grinned helplessly back at her. Then, before she could react, he banded his arm around her waist and rolled her onto her back.

She gasped in surprise, then cried out as he rubbed the head of his cock against her entrance. “Fuck,” she moaned. “Fuck, fuck, oh gods, _yes_ —” 

He gave her a pointed look. “Yes?” he panted. “Now you’re saying yes?”

“Yes!” she yelped. “Yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me now, _yes_!” 

“What, no teasing anymore?” he taunted, and he hooked her knee over his arm to spread her wider.

“No!” she whined. “No, I just — Felassan, please, fuck me!”

He tilted his head playfully. “Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that—”

She clawed at his arms. “I said fuck me!” she wailed. 

He gasped with pleasure and pain, then sheathed himself inside of her. She cried out and jolted beneath him, and… _fenedhis_ , spirits, fuck, she — this — filling her up like this, having her pressing in around him with her tightness and her heat and her arms around his neck and her mewling cries of pleasure in his ears… 

Felassan couldn’t think. He literally could not think. Tamaris felt incredible, she looked incredible and smelled incredible and just — he — fuck, he… Tamaris, she was… this was… 

_Worth waiting for,_ he thought deliriously. He drew back and pressed inside of her again, and she mewled and clenched her fingers in his hair, and he couldn’t help himself: a broken little sob of pleasure left his lips right before he sealed them over hers in a kiss.

He kissed her ravenously and thrust into her, and she broke their kiss with a gasp. Then they were moving together in a frantic and eager rhythm, her hands clutching his neck and holding him close as they panted for breath and tried to kiss each other at the same time. Her body was bucking frantically to meet him as he thrust into her hard, desperate to fill her up and to keep drawing those breathless cries of pleasure from her throat – breathless little cries that matched the unstoppable groans that were leaving his lips with every thrust, these pleasured groans that heralded his rising climax, the climax that she was pulling closer and closer to the surface with every kiss and thrust and cry—

He came suddenly, the pleasure cresting and exploding through his abdomen and shivering through his limbs with such force that he groaned loudly into her mouth and nipped her tongue. She gasped and cradled his face as he moaned and shuddered helplessly on top of her, and when the blinding pleasure of his climax had abated, he pried open his eyes. 

She was watching him. Her face was radiant with sweat and pleasure, and her expression was so content that it made his rapidly beating heart do a flip in his chest. 

He released her leg to the bed and carefully brushed a damp curl of hair away from her forehead. “You look happy,” he said breathlessly. 

“So do you,” she said.

“It was the teasing,” he said. “I told you, I enjoy it enormously.” 

She laughed – a husky knowing sound that he adored. “Uh-huh. I’ll make sure to do that again, then.”

“I meant teasing you,” he said. “It was absolute torture when you did it to me.” 

She laughed more heartily. “Hard to swallow what you’re dishing out yourself, huh?” 

He quirked a playful eyebrow. “Swallow? You minx. Did I not satisfy you enough?”

She grinned at him, and the uncomplicated humour in her face made his heart feel like it was on wings. “You are such a fucking rogue,” she accused, and she gently pushed his shoulders. 

He obligingly rolled off of her. But when she sat up and started to rise, a jolt of anxiety squeezed his gut. 

_Don’t go,_ he thought. He reached out and took her hand. “Where are you off to?” he said lightly. 

She lifted an eyebrow. “To the bathroom. Then maybe to get some water.” She smirked. “Unless you want your cold coffee from before.” 

He relaxed and released her hand. “A considerate offer, but I’ll pass.”

She smiled faintly and padded out of the bedroom, and Felassan lazily flopped back on the bed to await her return. When she came back a couple of minutes later with a big glass of water, he felt himself relaxing even more. 

She sipped the water before sitting on the bed, and he made a mock-sad face. “What, no water for me?”

She _tsk_ ed and offered him her glass. “Just have some of mine.”

“Ah, thank you,” he said. “I suppose a glass of water is the least risqué thing we could be sharing today.” He gave her a knowing smile as he lifted the glass to his lips.

She scoffed, then reached down and picked up his t-shirt from the floor and pulled it on, and something twisted warmly in his chest at the easy intimacy of the gesture. She stretched out on her back beside him, then glanced at him and lifted her eyebrows. 

“What?” she said.

He smiled goofily at her and plucked at the shirt. “This looks good on you.”

She dropped his gaze and rubbed the hem of the shirt between her fingers. “You can have it back,” she mumbled.

“I don’t want it back,” he said. “It’s exactly where it should be. Although I do regret not being able to see what’s underneath.” He slyly pushed up the edge of the t-shirt to reveal her bare hip. 

She tutted and smacked his hand, and he playfully pinched her bum. They scuffled childishly on the bed for a moment until she was tucked half beneath him with his hand roaming slowly over her belly beneath his t-shirt.

She smirked at him, then dropped his gaze again and nibbled the inside of her cheek, and Felassan fondly watched as her gaze wandered around the room. “So, um. Nice bedroom,” she said lamely.

He smiled. “Why are you being awkward?”

She scrunched her face up. “I am not.”

“You are,” he said with growing amusement. 

She shot him a resentful look, and he chuckled and gently pinched her waist. “Why do you feel awkward? There’s nothing to be awkward about.”

She shrugged and looked down at her toes. “I dunno. I haven’t done the pillow-talk thing in a long time.”

He hummed an acknowledgement. “That’s not a problem. We’ll practice.”

She smirked. “We’ll practice, huh?”

“Yes,” he said. “Practice makes perfect. Many people say this, so it must be true.”

“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. 

He smiled at her, then sobered. “In all seriousness, do you feel all right?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah. Why?”

He nodded. “Just making sure that I didn’t rush you into this.”

Her face softened. “You didn’t rush me. You — this was…” She trailed off and licked her lips, then gave him a frank look. “Felassan, thank you.”

“For what?” he said cheekily. “The orgasm? There’s considerably more where that came from.”

She huffed in amusement. “No, not for that, though — well, that too. But just for… for waiting for me. I didn’t mean to…” She gave him an apologetic look. “If I’d known what you went through with your parents and Solas…”

He understood what she meant: she was comparing her initially distant behaviour to the stone-cold shunning of his parents and his best friend. 

He gave her a gently chiding look. “Your distancing wasn’t the same. Put that thought from your mind.”

“I won’t do it again,” she said firmly.

He smiled chidingly at her. “Tamaris—”

“No, I mean it,” she insisted. “It won’t — I won’t fuck you around like that again, okay?”

She looked so determined and fierce, and his heart thumped at how protective she sounded – protective of _him_. He had never really had anyone be protective of him before. Not that he needed protecting, since he was long used to protecting his own interests. But to see Tamaris looking so ferociously protective on his behalf...

He tenderly stroked her cheekbone and lowered his lips to hers for a kiss – a slow sweet slide of his lips over hers with their tongues meeting ever-so-gently in a series of tiny delicate laps. He continued to glide his hand over the bowl of her belly, savouring the soft velvet of her skin as he skimmed his palm from her ribs down to her hips and up again, and when she was subtly tilting her pelvis in time with his hand, he brushed his thumb over her nipple.

She broke their kiss with a tiny hitch of a gasp. “What are you up to?” she breathed.

“Oh, nothing much,” he said casually.

“Nothing much, huh?” she drawled.

“Nothing much at all,” he said, and he skimmed his thumb over her nipple. 

Tamaris gasped and arched her spine. The little peak of her nipple puckered instantly against his thumb, and his cock started to unfurl and straighten. 

He lightly rolled the pad of his thumb over her nipple, and a tiny moan burst from her lips. “You’re such a tease.”

He smiled and brushed his lips over hers. “See, I knew you’d like it.”

“I like _you_ ,” she said bluntly. 

He paused and looked at her. Her catlike eyes were bright with lust once more, and her body was sprawled and warm beneath his palm. She looked so comfortable in his bed, so relaxed and _right_ , as though this was where she belonged, and to have her telling him so openly that she liked him, as though she had nothing left to fear…

A bubble of happiness swelled in his chest, cutting off any cleverness or quips he might otherwise have said. He tenderly stroked her hair away from her face. “I like you too, _avise_ ,” he murmured, and he kissed her again. 

She tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Felassan shifted carefully between her legs, and Tamaris curled her arms around him to stroke his naked back. They moved and murmured and breathed together in his bed, and with her every husky laugh and her every brilliant smile, Felassan’s conviction grew.

Some people, he thought, were worth waiting for. And Tamaris was worth every second of the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen thanks to FenxShiral: _isalan ma_ means ‘I want you’. 
> 
> In case anyone cares: no condom! Le gasp!! Please assume that Felamaris had the safe-sex birth-control chat at some point “off-screen”. We greatly approve of safe and healthy sex practices, but we do not always feel like writing an explicit conversation about them. 😏
> 
> This will be the only chapter this week, I’m afraid. But there should be at least one next week! Tamaris POV, I think. Probably. [squints at outline]
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your WONDERFUL GODDESS ARTIST is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	31. Slow Arrow: Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely wonderful readers: I wonder what’ll happen to Solas and Nare at the dinner party! I wonder what’ll happen with Athera and Abelas!  
> Me, a self-indulgent goblin: BUT WHAT IF TAMARIS AND FELASSAN HAD SEX AGAIN
> 
> Needless to say, some more Felamaris smut, and then some feels, and some FOOD - with a special nod to my beloved @ir-abelas-telanadas. 😂🥰

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris sat on the kitchen counter watching Felassan as he cooked. He was slicing some green onions at the kitchen island, having just finished mincing some garlic while a mixture of chicken stock and milk came to a simmer on the stove, and Tamaris admired the confident movements of his hands as he handled the knife. Watching Felassan cook was no hardship at all, particularly since he was only wearing sweatpants and an apron — the latter to protect himself from oil spatters, or so he said, though Tamaris was fairly sure he was wearing it more to amuse her than for a practical reason.

He deftly scraped the sliced green onions into a bowl, then looked up at her and smiled, and she glanced away from him as though that would hide the fact that she’d been staring at him like a moony teenager. “So, uh, this food you’re making,” she said. “Cheesy grits and shrimp? Where is it from?”

His smile curled at the corners as though he knew what she’d been thinking, but he answered her question anyway. “It’s Rivaini. Rivaini-elvhen, specifically, from what I understand. But it became popular in Orlais at some point in the past thirty years, so there is a touch of Orlesian influence there, depending on what seasonings you add.” He sidled over to the stove and poured some cornmeal into the pot while stirring, and Tamaris watched him curiously.

“You’re funny,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.

She scoffed. “I just mean that it’s funny how you cook all these foods from all over the world, but you’ve never been to any of those places.”

He looked up from the pot. “Should I only cook food from places I’ve been? My palate would get bored pretty quickly.”

“No, of course not,” she said. “I just mean…” She frowned slightly. “How come you haven’t travelled more? I think you would love travelling. You’re curious, you love new things, you hate being bored…”

He smiled broadly and came over to stand in front of her. “Such flattering descriptors,” he said, and he slid his palms up along her bare thighs. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“No,” she said cheekily. “I don’t want you to burn the food again.”

He tutted. “You’re cruel to remind me. That only happened one time.”

She smirked, and Felassan kissed her firmly before returning to the stove to stir the pot of grits. “In truth, I would dearly like to travel, but work has kept me busy. My teaching schedule this semester is not very conducive to travelling — classes on Tuesday and Friday don’t allow for more than a long weekend away, and that’s hardly any fun.”

“How long would you want to travel for?” she asked.

He thoughtfully tilted his head. “Ideally? A month at least. Perhaps longer. But to do that, I need to keep saving up. I’ll be chained to my computer for a while longer before I can make that happen.”

She nodded and didn’t reply. When Felassan spoke again, his tone was casual. “And you, _avise_? Any interest in travelling? Further than where you have already been, I mean?”

“Of course,” she said.

He glanced at her. “And? Why haven’t _you_ travelled more?”

Marin’s smile floated across her mind. A little pang pulled at her heart, and she shrugged. “Similar reasons as you,” she said. “Work, saving up, all that shit, you know.”

He nodded and stirred the pot for a moment longer, then went back to the island and started chopping an onion, and Tamaris watched him furtively. He wasn’t looking at her, just humming softly to himself as he worked, but Tamaris knew his silence for what it really was: he was waiting, waiting patiently for her to say what was on her mind.

The thoughts on her mind right now were the hardest to put into words, though. Marin and his bold laughter and his incoherent ranting, her parents and their loving smiles and their helplessness… She’d been circling around telling Felassan about her family for a couple of weeks now, but this was the hardest thing to talk about, and not just because it meant revisiting the worst few years of her life. 

If she told Felassan about her family, it would mean giving him access to the most sensitive parts of her past and of herself — parts that Perron had known, and which he’d deemed too much to handle, resulting in him dumping her. 

Her stomach twisted with anxiety. She inhaled slowly to try and calm her racing heart, then forced herself to focus on watching Felassan. His movements were fluid and graceful as he moved through the kitchen, chopping the onion swiftly then taking out a pan and adding chopped bacon to it before stirring the pot of grits, and it was somehow calming to watch him moving seamlessly from island to stove and back.

A few peaceful moments later, he removed the pot from the stove and placed it on a potholder on the kitchen island. “Stir the butter and cheese into that, won’t you?”

She _tsk_ ed in mock-annoyance and slid off the kitchen counter. “Putting me to work now?”

He shot her a grin as he stirred the bacon. “If I have an extra pair of hands at my disposal, I’m going to use them.”

Tamaris smirked at him and did as he’d asked. When the cheese was melted into the grits, she looked over at Felassan, who was sautéing the shrimp now. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Let me taste it,” he said.

Perversely and annoyingly, a pulse of warmth swelled between her legs. His command wasn’t at all carnal, but apparently a command in Felassan’s voice involving the word ‘taste’ was enough to make her mind go to a depraved place. 

“Tamaris?” he said.

“Uh, yeah,” she said hastily, and she scooped up a little bite of the grits for him to taste. 

She joined him at the stove, then wilted slightly; his pretty amethyst eyes were dancing with laughter, and his lips were quirked in a teasing smirk. 

She scowled at him. Why did he always have to know what she was thinking? “Here,” she muttered, and she offered him the spoon. 

He tasted the grits, then narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Add a little more salt. Maybe a pinch more.”

“Yes, boss,” she said sarcastically. 

He patted her butt. “That’s my girl.” 

Damn it, fuck, why did that turn her on? From anyone else it would sound condescending, but in Felassan’s playful voice, mixed with her own memories of that smooth playful voice murmuring in her ear…

She shot him a dirty look as she returned to the kitchen island, and he grinned. “What’s the matter, Tamaris? You look irritable.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, and she stirred a little more salt into the grits. 

He laughed brightly, a lovely lilting sound of mirth, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile in response. A few minutes later, she was sitting at the kitchen table while an apron-free Felassan placed a dish of shrimp and grits in front of her. 

“ _Enansal’in,_ ” he said. “Eat it while it’s hot.” He sat across from her with his own dish, and Tamaris admired her food as she picked up her spoon. The sunny-yellow grits made for a nice backdrop for the rosy shrimp and the speckles of bacon, and the green onion garnish on top was a pleasing little pop of fresh colour. 

She cut a shrimp in half with the side of her spoon and lifted it to her mouth with a bite of grits, and as soon as the food was in her mouth, she could feel herself relaxing: the grits were so cozy and comforting, like porridge but better because it was packed with cheese, and the shrimp was perfectly tender — something Tamaris was never quite able to achieve when she was cooking. She had a tendency to walk away from the stove out of boredom, resulting regularly in overcooked meat on the rare occasions when she made food for herself. 

She chewed and swallowed with relish, then scooped up another bite, and Felassan chuckled. “Hungry, were you?”

“Starving,” she admitted. 

“Maybe that’s why you were irritable, then,” he said. 

His tone was purposely bland. Tamaris _tsk_ ed at him. “I’m not always irritable just because I’m horny, you know,” she grumbled.

“But you are now?” he asked playfully.

“Not right now, no,” she retorted, and she spooned up another big bite of food. “Right now I’m eating.”

He chuckled. “Well, I’ll be happy to feed you in whatever way you like for the rest of the night.”

Tamaris shot him a goofy smile, then dropped her gaze back to her food. She and Felassan had already spent the entire afternoon in his bed, talking and fucking and dozing on and off until they’d both grown so hungry that they had to rise, and Tamaris was eagerly anticipating that they’d go straight back to his bed once they were finished eating. 

She ate another bite of perfectly tender shrimp, and as she chewed, she marvelled over the fact that she was so looking forward to going back to bed with Felassan. It was strange to think about how much she’d been dreading this even just a couple of weeks ago, dreading the intimacy of the post-sex lounging-around that she knew would be inevitable after sleeping with Felassan. And now that they’d had sex, she was craving that intimacy again already, even though they’d only just left his bed less than an hour ago. She was craving the solid heat of his body against hers as they twined together naked in the sheets, their voices low and his fingers gentle on her skin as they kissed and stroked each other and talked about all kinds of idle unimportant things.

In truth, she had never had this kind of post-sex wind-down before with anyone, not even with Perron. Sure, she’d laid around in bed after having sex with boyfriends in the past, but it had never had the same sort of languid, idyllic quality as the afternoon she’d just spent with Felassan. When she and Felassan were in his bed, she could almost imagine herself melting into him, the two of them melting together into the sweet- and sweat-scented cocoon of his sheets until they were inseparable from each other or from the precious bed that held them.

Her stomach jolted with a little pang of nerves. She’d told Felassan that she liked him — an obvious fact, really, and how fucking old was she anyway to say she _liked_ him? Twelve? — but ‘liking’ him was a woefully insufficient descriptor for the way she was feeling now. With his delicious food in her mouth and this sweet ache in the muscles of her inner thighs, and most of all, this swelling feeling in her chest…

 _Oh shit. I’m done for,_ she thought ruefully. She swallowed hard and scooped up another bite of food, and Felassan spoke up. “What are you thinking about?”

She looked up from her mostly-empty dish. Felassan had finished his dinner already, and he was leaning his elbows casually on the table as he watched her. His expression was soft and warm, and it plucked at Tamaris’s heart in a way that was both exhilarating and vaguely terrifying. 

She shrugged and poked at the last little bit of her food. “Nothing much,” she said. She couldn’t tell him what she’d been thinking about, not yet. It was still too fresh, like a new tattoo that was bright and sharply defined but tender at the edges. Exposing the depth of her feelings to Felassan would be like asking for trouble, like poking at something that was better left to rest and settle before making itself so publicly known.

He nodded as though she’d said something profound, and she gave him a foolish little smile before dropping her gaze back to her food and finishing it off. When her dinner was done, she and Felassan cleared the table, and she started washing the dishes as had become their routine whenever he cooked for her. 

She scrubbed the greasy pan, and Felassan leaned against the counter beside her with a smile. “What should we do when you’re finished? Are you in the mood to watch a movie?”

 _I want to go back to your bedroom,_ she thought. She shrugged and put the pan in the dish drainer. “Not really.”

“Would you like to play a game?” he suggested. “You could play Mass Effect. I’ll even be generous and let you play my current game if you don’t want to start a new playthrough.”

She scoffed. “No way. I’ll only play as FemShep. Her voice actor is way better than guy-Shepard.”

Felassan sighed dramatically. “Everyone is a critic. All right, no Mass Effect then.”

She gave him a tiny smile and kept washing the dishes. Then he sidled a little closer to her. “Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked.

His tone was soft and persuasive, and she liked it so much that it was almost annoying. She shrugged and didn’t look up from the dishes. “Maybe.”

He smiled. “Maybe?”

She bit the inside of her cheek to try and hide her smile, to no avail; the latent laughter in his voice was making her smile whether she wanted to or not. 

He laughed and pushed away from the counter to stand behind her instead. “Are you trying to make me sweat, _avise_?” 

His arms were sliding around her waist to hug her from behind, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinning like an idiot, even as she scoffed at him. “No. I have better ways of doing that.”

“Is that so?” he said with great interest. “Pray tell.”

“Maybe I’d rather show you instead,” she retorted.

Felassan chuckled and nuzzled her ear, sending a lovely ripple of goosebumps down the back of her neck. “Mm, you are a minx,” he mused. “I suppose I have no choice but to take you back to bed after all, then.” He brushed the edge of her ear with his nose before pressing his lips to the tender spot where the angle of her jaw met her neck, and Tamaris eagerly tilted her head to invite the simple but erotic touch.

He exhaled softly against her neck, sending another pleasurable spill of sensation down her spine. “You should wash these dishes faster,” he murmured.

“Or we could leave them for later,” she said breathlessly.

“Not possible,” he said. “I’m many things, but a slob is not one of them.”

His lips were still close to her neck, so close that the sensitized skin below her ear felt like it was jumping with electricity as she awaited his touch. She tilted her head a little more to try and invite his lips. “That’s not true,” she said accusingly. “You’ve left the dishes for later before.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Well, tonight I want them done right away.” He dropped a tiny kiss on her neck — a tiny whisper of a kiss, just enough to make her lower muscles clench with want.

She exhaled slowly. “You’re so fucking bossy.”

He chuckled. “I have a sneaky little suspicion that you like it.”

“Is that so?” she said archly.

“Yes,” he said. “Let me just check.” With one hand he began pulling up the edge of her t-shirt — _his_ t-shirt, really, which she was shamelessly borrowing — and the feeling of his fingertips brushing her belly to gather the fabric spurred a flood of anticipation between her legs. 

He held up her shirt in one hand and slowly slid his other palm down along the expanse of her bare belly, and Tamaris shifted restlessly against his chest. His hand sliding over her abdomen was so gentle, like he was purposely just skimming her belly with his palm rather than really feeling her skin, and the gentleness of his touch was driving her to distraction.

He slipped the tips of his fingers into her panties, and Tamaris held her breath, her anticipation ratcheting higher as she waited for him to move his fingers lower. 

Then he paused and brushed his lips over her ear once more. “Keep washing the dishes, Tamaris.”

She burst out a snarling little laugh. “You fucking tease.”

“Yes, I am,” he purred. He playfully tapped his fingers on her abdomen. “Come on now, empty this sink and we’ll go back to the bedroom.”

She let her breath out in a heavy sigh and started washing the knife he’d used to chop the vegetables. When the knife was rinsed and resting safely in the dish drainer, she started washing another dish. 

Felassan slipped his fingers deeper into her panties and stroked her, and she jolted and gasped; she was swollen and slick for him, and his fingers were stroking her in a firm slow caress as though to spread her wetness. 

His finger moved up to lightly pet her clit. She arched against his chest and gasped, and the dish dropped from her soapy fingers into the sink with a clatter.

His hand left her panties. “Tamaris—”

“I know, I know,” she snapped, and she began roughly washing the dish.

He laughed throatily, then kissed the side of her neck and slid one hand up into her t-shirt. “So irritable,” he teased, and he palmed her breast. 

He gently tugged her nipple, and she burst out a moan. Her pussy was throbbing and unfulfilled and she wanted him to touch her again, but he was playing her nipple so perfectly with his fingers and she didn’t want _that_ to stop, and the hard ridge of his cock pressing against the small of her back was just making this all the harder to bear.

She shakily placed a handful of rinsed utensils into the dish drainer, then rubbed herself back against his groin, and his fingers tightened on her nipple. “Ah,” he sighed.

Her pulse throbbed between her legs. The simple pleasured sound of his voice, the warmth of his breath against the side of her neck… 

Fuck, she _wanted_ him. She wanted that pleasured little breath to be a pleasured groan as he sank into her and filled her up. But there were still a few fucking dishes left in the sink. 

Frustrated and impatient, she braced one hand on the edge of the sink and rolled her hips back to meet his pelvis. He grunted against her ear and his fingers tightened on her nipple, shoving her impatience and her lust even higher. And then his arm was banding tightly around her waist to hold her still.

She wiggled in his grip and whimpered, and Felassan tutted softly. “Tamaris, Tamaris. Why are you being so willful?”

“What do you mean?” she complained.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked.

She stopped breathing for a second, thrilled by his blunt words in his velvety voice. “Yes, for fuck’s sake,” she blurted. “Yes, I do.”

“There’s only one way for that to happen,” he said. “You need to finish these dishes.”

He was stroking her breast again, pinching and rolling her nipple lightly between his fingers while his other arm held her still, and it was so torturous that it was nearly making her dizzy. “You’re — this is — I hate this so much,” she whined.

He chuckled softly. “I don’t hear you telling me to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she snapped. “I want more!”

“Then finish washing the dishes,” he said. “It’s fairly simple. It’s just one little job.” He twisted her nipple gently, and a shock of pleasure zipped from her breast straight down to her groin.

“F-fuck,” she whimpered, and she reached for a dirty bowl. 

Felassan’s hand slid over to her other breast, and his arm loosened around her waist. By the time the dishes were all rinsed and resting in the dish drainer, he was petting her clit again, and Tamaris was gasping for breath and struggling to stay on her feet.

Felassan was breathing hard as well, a rough and growly gust against the side of her neck, and it only made her pleasure spiral higher. She pulled pleadingly on his wrist. “Okay, the sink is empty, will you fuck me now?” she demanded. 

He pulled his hand out of her panties and took a small step back. “Hm, I’m not sure. Maybe I should have you dry the dishes and put them away—”

She spun toward him and grabbed his shoulders and kissed him hard, thrusting her tongue desperately into his mouth to stop him from saying any more cheeky fucking words. She trailed her nails down along his abs until he gasped into her mouth, then shoved her hand roughly into his sweats to grab his cock.

He groaned and slid his hands into her hair, and she gasped excitedly against his lips as she stroked him. His cock was — fuck, it was perfect, hard and thick with the perfect slight upward curve, and she wanted him inside of her so desperately that even she was a little taken aback by her own lust. The way she wanted him, wanting him to fill up her body and wrap his arms around her and kiss her hard: she wanted him so much and so voraciously that she might as well not have spent the entire afternoon touching him and being touched by him in turn. 

Almost frenzied now with lust, she pushed him away and pulled off her t-shirt, then dropped to her knees and pulled down the waistband of his sweats. When his cock sprang free, she didn’t hesitate before taking him into her mouth.

He gasped with pleasure, and Tamaris savoured the feeling of his cock in her mouth. He tasted and smelled like sex, and this clear evidence of their activities all day only amplified her desire even more. 

She swirled her tongue around the head of his cock and sucked it gently, and he gasped and cradled the nape of her neck. “Are you trying to — _ah_ — to torture me?” he moaned. 

She didn’t answer, too busy sucking his cock to reply, but the answer was yes: she was torturing him, purposely giving him just a taste of pleasure and withholding the relief that a deeper blowjob could provide, and the tense sound of his moans and the feeling of his fingers tightening on her nape made her feel a nearly-vindictive sort of satisfaction.

She lapped hungrily at the head of his cock before suckling it again. Then Felassan’s fingers suddenly tightened in her hair. 

He pulled her head back, and she gasped, surprised and thrilled by the pull of his hand and dismayed by the confiscation of his cock. But before she could say anything, he was kissing her hard and pulling her to her feet with one hand in her hair and his other hand on her arm. He stroked her tongue with his and kissed her deeply, and then he was walking her backwards, guiding her with one hand on her hip and the other one still coiled in her hair— 

A piece of furniture bumped into her back: the kitchen table. Then Felassan broke from their kiss. “Sit,” he whispered.

She eased up to sit on the kitchen table. “Are you going to fuck me now?” she panted.

“No,” he said.

She stared at him, frustrated to the point of almost being angry. “What the fuck, why—?”

He took her chin in a gentle grip and kissed her again, stealing her words and her breath at the same time, and Tamaris ravenously suckled his tongue when he slipped it into her mouth. Then he pulled away from her and lifted her chin to look her in the eye. 

“I’m not going to fuck you yet,” he said. “I’m going to devour you first like the feast that you are. Spread your legs.”

His words were like a red-hot bolt of lust slamming into her chest, stopping her breath and her heart and her thoughts for a second until the only words in her mind were the ones he’d just said: _I’m going to devour you first like the feast that you are._ Those words, so crass but smooth at the same time, delivered in his silken matter-of-fact tone— 

He pulled a chair in front of her and sat. “Spread your legs, Tamaris. Do it now.”

She dragged in a desperate breath. “So fucking bossy,” she scolded, and she opened her legs wide. 

He grinned at her, and her heart thumped again: he was smiling, but his pupils were huge and dark with lust. Then he pulled the crotch of her smalls to the side and pressed his mouth between her legs.

She moaned and lifted her hips toward his mouth. He was kissing her carefully, firm and attentive open-mouthed kisses as though he was kissing her mouth, brushing his lower lip over her folds and stroking his tongue along the length of her cleft and finishing each lick with a tiny caress of her clit, and it was worth every second of the torturous teasing he’d put her through.

She clenched her fingers against the table and tilted her hips to meet his mouth, and soon he was matching the rocking rhythm of her hips, tracing the periphery of her swollen clit with the perfect pressure to push her steadily toward her peak. Tamaris held her breath, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to focus on anything but the perfection of his mouth on her pussy as he brought her higher and closer to her climax, yes just a little bit closer, _fuck_ — 

He suddenly slid one finger inside of her and curled his finger, and her climax exploded. 

She let out a strangled cry and arched her spine. Felassan was still licking her, but his finger was swirling inside of her and she was clenching around him, and gods, it felt so fucking good… 

She sobbed and shuddered and dug her nails into her own collarbone. The pleasure of his mouth was deepened by his finger moving inside of her, and she helplessly ground herself into his finger and his mouth, wanting him so much, wanting to be filled by him, fuck she was _empty_ without Felassan inside of her— 

“Fuck me!” she cried. “Felassan, fuck me now, please!”

He finally pulled his finger free and stood, and Tamaris stared at him as he shoved his sweatpants down. He reached for her panties and she lifted her hips so he could drag the sodden garment off, and a second later, she was flat on her back on the table as he hooked her legs over his arms. Before she could say a word, he was inside of her.

She arched her spine fitfully and mewled. This angle with her legs raised was so intense, like he was hitting that crazy spot inside of her that people always talked about but that she’d never had anyone reach before, not with all the dozens of men she’d fucked… 

“Come for me, _avise,_ ” he breathed. “I want you to come for me again.” He drew back and slid into her once more, a smooth hard stroke, and she mewled again. Then he was fucking her in a smooth rhythm and hitting that spot inside of her with his perfect _perfect_ cock, sending shocks of pleasure up to her throat and making these broken little noises of rapture burst uncontrollably from her lips— 

_Yes,_ she thought mindlessly. _Yes yes yes,_ if he kept going like that, if he kept fucking her just like this at just this angle, she — she would, she — she was so close… 

“Come, Tamaris, come on now,” he coaxed. “That’s my girl.”

His words, his perfect words and his cock and the way he was fucking her, gods _please_ …

Suddenly there were stars bursting behind her closed eyelids. She could feel the rapture trembling in her fingers and through her calves down to her toes, and the sound she was making was so broken and pleasured that it didn’t even sound like her. She arched her spine and dragged her nails across her chest and sobbed, and by the time the blinding pleasure of her climax had ebbed away, she could feel a trail of tears spanning from the corners of her eyes to her temples. 

She dragged in a deep and tremulous breath. Then Felassan released her legs and stroked her cheek with his knuckle. “Sit up, _avise_ ,” he panted.

With some difficulty, she pushed herself upright on the table. She reached for him, clasping his neck in her hands and pulling him into a kiss, and then his hands were on her body too, his palms sliding over her shoulder blades and down her back as they kissed, and their kisses were slower and less urgent this time but no less deep, their tongues sliding together between plush and firm meetings of their lips. 

And Felassan was still inside of her. Without breaking from the hypnotic pleasure of his lips, Tamaris shifted closer to the edge of the table and hooked one leg around his waist. She pulled him close and tilted her hips to meet him, and when he moaned into her mouth, she broke from their kiss and brushed her lips over his cheekbone. 

She tugged his earlobe with her lips. “Your turn now,” she whispered. “How do you want me? Fast or slow?”

“Slow,” he said promptly. “Slowly so I can feel you, _ah_...”

She hummed softly and pressed her lips to his neck, and he moaned again as he filled her up. She rocked her hips slowly to meet him and trailed her mouth along the edge of his neck, then placed a little bite on the side of his neck.

He jolted, his breath catching in a gasp, and Tamaris smiled smugly. “Fuck me nice and slow, Felassan,” she purred, and she pressed her teeth gently into the side of his neck again.

He groaned, and his fingers tightened on her hip. Tamaris continued to tease his neck, brushing her lips over his skin with a whisper of a touch before leaving an unexpected bite on the side of his neck, and it wasn’t long before he was gasping and bucking into her faster, as though he couldn’t resist the heated lure of her body.

She dropped her mouth to the juncture of his shoulder and his neck and sucked gently on his skin, and he jolted and gripped her hip hard. “Yes,” he yelped, “that — ah, Tamaris, please…”

“Since you asked nicely,” she teased, and she pressed her teeth into the sensitive spot.

He burst out a breathless laugh that melted into a moan, and Tamaris continued to suckle and bite his skin, listening carefully to the sounds of his pleasure as he filled her up, adjusting her movements and the pressure of her teeth until he was gasping tensely and gripping her hip so hard that it was deliciously painful. 

She breathed hard against his neck. She could feel his cock growing harder inside of her, getting even more steely and filling her up even more than it already did. Sure enough, he dragged in a breath, then let it out in a broken sort of groan. “Tamaris, kiss me, _sathan_ — ”

She lifted her mouth from his neck and kissed him. A second later, he shuddered and moaned into her mouth, and then Tamaris was gasping and moaning too as Felassan rode her through his climax.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, and he wrapped one arm around her too, his hips bucking fitfully as he clutched her close and braced his other hand on the table. By the time his body grew still, her breasts were crushed to his chest, and they were so closely twined together that she couldn’t tell if the sweat collecting between them was hers or his. 

He slowly peeled his lips away from hers, then smiled at her and stroked her damp hair away from her face with both hands, and she smiled lazily at him as he stroked her face. His ears and cheeks were faintly flushed and his collarbones were dewy with sweat, and she was sure she looked just as sated as he did.

She reached up and gingerly brushed her fingers over the patch of skin between his shoulder and his neck. “Sorry,” she said.

“Sorry for what?” he asked.

“For this hickey,” she said. She grimaced. “It’s a pretty bad one. You might need to wear collared shirts for a few days.”

A slow and mischievous smile lifted his lips. “You left a mark, did you? You terrible minx.”

She scoffed and lightly smacked his chest. “Shut up, you liked it.”

“I never said I didn’t,” he said.

She smirked, and Felassan gave her a quick sweet kiss before carefully withdrawing from her. He grinned at her as he tucked himself back into his sweatpants. “All right. Off to the bathroom for you, and I’ll meet you in bed?” He picked up her panties from the floor, then held them out to her with a mocking little bow. 

_Cheeky handsome bastard,_ she thought in amusement. “I don’t want those,” she said as she slid off of the table. “They’re all wet.” 

His lips curled into a salacious grin, and Tamaris grinned at him in turn before picking his shirt off the floor instead. She pulled it on, then sauntered off to the bathroom with Felassan’s wicked little laugh following her down the hall. 

She did her usual post-sex cleanup routine, peeing and rinsing herself off and gulping down some water before tousling her unruly hair so it was slightly less unruly, then returned to Felassan’s bedroom. He was lounging in bed and flicking through his phone, but he smiled at her and immediately put his phone aside when she came into the room. 

“I saved a spot for you,” he said, and he pulled the blankets down and patted the mattress beside him.

She came over to the bed and gently pushed his shoulder. “I want to lie on this side.”

“Why?” he said, but he moved over nonetheless.

“It’s already warm,” she said, and she slid under the covers to lie in the place where he’d been lounging. In truth, she wanted to lie on the side of the bed that smelled more like him, but telling him that would really make her sound like a sap. 

She nestled into the pillow and inhaled the herbal scent that was left behind by his hair, and he chuckled and settled on his side so he was facing her. “You’re getting spoiled, _avise_.”

“Spoiled?” she said in surprise. “How?”

“Pouting about helping me cook, complaining about washing the dishes, making me move over in the bed… you’re becoming quite the pampered princess.” He smirked and pinched her bare butt. 

She smacked his hand and laughed in disbelief. “If I’m spoiled, it’s your fault for treating me so nice.”

“I do have myself to blame, don’t I?” he said cheerfully. “Oh well, I’ve made my bed. I suppose I’ll have to lie in it. Literally, since we’re in my bed—”

“Shut the fuck up,” she chuckled, and she kissed him. He pulled her against his chest and she slid her hands into his thick raven hair, and by the time they slowly broke apart, Felassan was lounging on his back and stroking her skin beneath her shirt while Tamaris lay half on top of him. 

He tucked his free arm behind his head and let out a lazy sigh, and Tamaris brushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. He looked so perfectly content and relaxed, with his lips curled in their customary little half-smile and his eyes half-closed and sly as he met her gaze. She knew she was staring and that he was going to ask her why, but she couldn’t stop herself from admiring just how beautiful he was. 

Sure enough, he patted her bare hip. “What’s on your mind?”

She studied his face without speaking. She couldn’t tell him what was on her mind and swelling in her heart, not just yet. But… but he’d told her about his family today. He’d shared the hardship he’d gone through before coming out here to Val Royeaux, and he’d admitted to being manipulative and malicious in the past, even knowing that that admission might put her off. 

Whether he saw it this way or not, he’d taken a risk for her today, and Tamaris wanted… well, she didn’t _want_ to take a risk, really. But if anyone was worth the risk, it was Felassan. 

She nervously licked her lips. “I, um… I told you my brother Marin is in Kirkwall, and how my parents are at the reserve. And that I had that ex who dumped me at the worst possible time.”

His smile softened into seriousness. “Yes, you mentioned all of that.”

She nodded. “So… so he dumped me because of some shit going on in my family.”

Felassan frowned slightly, then sat up carefully in the bed, bringing Tamaris upright with him. “Tell me,” he said gently.

She ran a hand through her hair. “Okay. I was a the University of Kirkwall doing my BFA, which, as you know, worked out really well for me,” she said sarcastically.

He gave her a chiding look. “And which, as _you_ know, has no bearing on your status as an artist.”

She waved dismissively. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, so I was in Kirkwall, and Marin was at the reserve at that time. He was actually the First in our clan. That means he was going to take over as the Keeper eventually,” she clarified. “At that time, he was…” She swallowed hard. Fuck, there was already a lump swelling in her throat. 

She pushed on. “He was funny and sarcastic and smart. Way better with people than me. He was… I don’t know, he was my big brother. When I got pissed at the shems in Kirkwall, I’d call or text him to rant about them, and he’d make me laugh so it wouldn’t seem like a big deal anymore.”

Felassan nodded but didn’t speak, and Tamaris took a deep breath before going on. “At some point in my… shit, I think when I was in third year, he started calling me more often. We didn’t usually talk on the phone that much, you know, maybe once a month. But suddenly he started calling me a lot, like sometimes a few times in a day, and sometimes late at night. Like, around 2 a.m. Which isn’t late for me, but it was weird for him.”

“He isn’t a night owl like you?” Felassan asked.

She gave him a small smile. “No, not really. I mean, sometimes he’d stay up late, but not usually that late. And he would never call that late, but suddenly he was. And the shit he was saying…” She sighed. “He wasn’t making sense. He would still talk about the same topics as he usually would, but he was… it was like he was just… talking without listening. Like he wasn’t even hearing what he was saying. It was just like this long, rambling monologue that had no point.” She frowned at herself, annoyed that her own description wasn’t properly evoking the confusing and convoluted quality of Marin’s psychosis. 

Felassan nodded as though he could understand what she meant, and she took another deep breath before going on. “Around that time, my parents started calling too, all worried because Marin was acting strange, doing weird shit and not acting like himself. Leaving the house at random times, being found wandering along the side of the road carrying a shovel without being able to explain why, claiming that the human police at Starkhaven were… I don’t know, conspiring against our clan to get us pushed out of the reserve. Which I mean, it wasn’t a totally unlikely idea,” she added, “but the way Marin was fixated on it, like he was obsessed: writing emails to the Starkhaven police and calling them and leaving angry voicemails that made no sense…”

Felassan exhaled heavily. “ _Fenedhis._ ”

“Yeah. It was bad,” Tamaris said flatly. “And my parents were just… they had no idea what to do. So I took a break from school and went home to see what I could do to help. When I got there, it was…” She swallowed hard again. “Marin was hardly recognizable. He couldn’t focus on anything, he wasn’t even showering, he was paranoid about everything. If I tried to argue with him about how irrational he was being, he got pissed at me and started being paranoid about _me_ , so I had to basically relearn how to talk to him. It was like having to get to know a fucking stranger in my brother’s body.” She dragged her fingers through our hair. “Actually, our clan’s healer thought he was possessed by an angry spirit. My parents were desperate, so they asked the healer to do a cleansing ritual, but Marin wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do anything we suggested — go to the healer or see a doctor or do meditation or anything. And then one night he left the reserve without leaving a note or anything.”

Felassan’s eyebrows rose. “How did he leave?”

“He drove,” Tamaris said matter-of-factly. “To Starkhaven.”

Felassan’s shoulders wilted. “Oh. Oh, Tamaris.”

She forced a little laugh. “Yeah. So I borrowed a friend’s car and drove out there to bring him back.”

“You went on your own?” Felassan asked.

“Ye— well, no, I went with a friend,” she amended. “We figured we’d have to drive the car back that Marin had taken.”

“Your parents didn’t want to go?” he asked.

Tamaris wrinkled her nose. “There’s no way I was going to bring my parents. They were useless for dealing with Marin, being around him just made them upset. And by that time — that was a couple of months after I came home — I was the only one who could keep him calm and that he wasn’t suspicious of. Usually, at least,” she added. “So, um, yeah, I went to Starkhaven. Where Marin had been picked up by the police and arrested.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows, then scoffed softly. “An erratically behaved Dalish elf wandering around Starkhaven? Taking him to a hospital would have been too logical, I suppose.”

“Exactly,” Tamaris said emphatically. “That’s — fuck, that’s still what makes me so mad. If it had been a human acting that way, they’d have taken him to the hospital, you know?”

Felassan stroked her back, and she exhaled hard. “Anyway. I had to fight really hard to get them to release him on bail, and then we were back to square one back home at the reserve. But worse, actually, because now he was on the shit list of the Starkhaven police,” she said. “So if he did anything ‘suspicious’ outside of the reserve, he would be in real trouble.”

“Even though he was obviously sick?” Felassan drawled.

“They didn’t give a fuck that he was sick,” Tamaris said in a hard voice. “He was an elf who was acting bizarre and violent, so they wanted to lock him up.”

Felassan’s face creased into a sympathetic frown, and she shrugged. “So… yeah, the… the erratic behaviour went on for months. Well, years really. And it was like his behaviour was constantly changing, too. Sometimes he’d be really hyper and fixated on something and we couldn’t get him to focus on anything else, and then sometimes he was just… he would lie in bed not moving or talking, refusing to eat or drink, refusing to fucking bathe.” She sighed. “And the paranoia, the weird thoughts, it was like that all the time. He needed to be supervised basically all the time because he was so unpredictable, so I quit my BFA to look after him.”

Felassan’s hand went still. “That’s why you quit your BFA?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought…” He frowned. “I was under the impression you quit because you hated it.”

“I hated it too, so it wasn’t a huge hardship to quit,” she said. “I mean, it was a hardship in the sense that it was a fucking waste of money and time, but… I don’t know.” She shrugged philosophically. “Now, years later, I can be sort of grateful that I had an excuse to quit school, because I think it would have just kept making me miserable if I’d kept at it. It was soul-sucking, that fucking program. For me at least,” she added hurriedly. “I mean, it was great for Nare, she finished her BFA and it’s been great for her, but it was a shit time for me.” She shrugged again and curled her arms around her knees. “I like being a tattoo artist, and I probably wouldn’t have started doing this if I hadn’t quit school and moved back home and started apprenticing with our clan’s spiritual leader. So I guess it’s for the best.”

He smiled and tweaked a lock of her hair. “I knew there was a little optimism in there somewhere.”

“Yeah,” she said wryly. “The same optimism that’s happy now that Perron dumped me while Marin was in the worst of it.”

He raised his eyebrows again. “Ah. So this is the ‘worst possible time’ you referred to.”

“Yup,” she said with a humourless smile. “This was like a month after I quit my BFA. I’d been calling Perron almost every night, you know, to tell him what was up and just, I don’t know. To try to feel normal by hearing what normal people were doing. And then one day he called me and said he didn’t want to do the long-distance thing anymore.”

Felassan huffed. “A convenient excuse.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” she said flatly. “So I invited him to come to the reserve to see me, and he said he couldn’t deal with my… whatever, with my shit. And that was the end of that.”

Felassan’s skeptical face became very somber. “I am sorry, Tamaris.”

She shrugged again. She couldn’t say it was okay, because it wasn’t really. “He was a child,” she said instead. “Don’t ask a kid to do an adult’s job, you know.” She shot Felassan a rueful half-smile.

He tilted his head. “Explain.”

“He was twenty-one at the time,” Tamaris said. “He was a child. I was twenty-four, and besides, I’m Dalish — we’re used to handling adult responsibilities and shit by the time we’re eighteen or nineteen. But he was a city kid, spoiled and young, and… I dunno. In retrospect, it’s not that surprising that he fucked off.” She paused for a second to think about her own words, and a weird sense of surreality threw her off for a second. She had never voiced these kinds of thoughts about Perron before — thoughts that weren’t completely stained with resentment and rage. Actually, it had been years since she’d thought of him with anything but bitterness. To be thinking of him now with some sort of understanding was… It was weird.

She frowned. Why was she feeling so charitable towards him? It wasn’t like he was a good guy or something. It wasn’t like he’d ever tried to make up for what he’d done. So why wasn’t she feeling angry anymore?

She glanced at Felassan, and her heart fluttered. He was smiling at her, a warm sort of smile that made her feel yet again as though he was hearing her thoughts.

Feeling self-conscious now, she leaned into his shoulder so she couldn’t look directly at his face, and he wrapped his arm around her. “You said that Marin is in Kirkwall now,” he said. “Why is he there instead of at the reserve?”

“Oh, right,” she said. “He lives at a group home in Kirkwall — a place that’s tailored to support people who have serious mental illness or cognitive issues, like brain injuries after accidents and things like that.”

Felassan hummed in understanding. “Does he like it there?”

“He… doesn’t mind it,” Tamaris said carefully. “He’s calm there. The people are nice — I vetted it thoroughly before we applied for him to move in there, and a friend of mine, Varric, his brother lives there too, so it was a solid recommendation.”

“Group homes like that don’t exist in the reserve?” Felassan asked.

“No, unfortunately,” she said. “There’s not enough of a need for something that specialized on our reserve. And Marin was… honestly, he was a lot to handle. We…” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “We wanted to keep him on the reserve. But with the heat from the Starkhaven police and just how… how severe Marin was, he couldn’t stay on the reserve. We couldn’t properly take care of him at home. So that group home was the next best thing.”

Felassan nodded again. “You went through a lot to get him there.”

She barked out a mirthless little laugh. “That is a fucking understatement,” she said. “It took years of effort before I got him moved into that group home. First we had to get him diagnosed, which took… fuck, so many visits to so many doctors and so many medication trials, which Marin hated even if he agreed to them. Then I had to apply for him to become a Free Marcher citizen so the group home would be covered by the city-state’s health insurance, and it was extra hard to secure it since Marin is already sick, and in the meantime I was managing him at home with whatever help the rest of our community could provide.” She sighed and shook her head slightly at the memory. “Honestly, it was a fucking nightmare, but at least it’s done. And now Marin is…” 

She trailed off. Honestly, it was painful to describe what Marin was like now, especially compared to who he was before. Before he’d gotten sick, he was… frankly, he was the better child of the two of them, and Tamaris had no qualms about admitting that. He was the good one, the one the clan was proud of, the friendly and responsible one, while Tamaris was the quiet surly one smoking deep mushroom in the corner by herself. Then, in the space of a few months, everything had changed. 

Marin wasn’t the man he used to be, and Tamaris was still struggling with the idea that the way he was now might be the way he’d be forever: calm but muted somehow, like there was a spark of the old Marin inside of him that was somehow stilled or tranquilized. 

She swallowed hard; her throat was feeling thick again. Instead of trying to explain the complexity of her thoughts to Felassan, she used the word she and her parents had come to use when talking about Marin now. 

“He’s stable,” she said. “He’s on meds, and the support workers at the home have a good rapport with him, so they can usually talk him into staying on his meds when he starts talking about not needing them anymore.” She took a deep breath to ease the ache in her chest before going on. “He… he sometimes says the meds make him feel like he’s walking in slow motion, or like his thinking is slow, but… at least he can function this way. He’s even working now, which he hasn’t been able to do in years. Just in the kitchen at the group home, but at least he’s working.” 

Felassan nodded and didn’t speak, and Tamaris gazed morosely at her knees. She knew Marin didn’t like being on meds; he mentioned it every time they spoke. But she’d seen the consequences when he chose to go off his meds, and the results were just untenable — something she was also forced to remind him every time she talked to him.

It was an ugly compromise, and Tamaris knew it. But there was no good answer, and that was just life.

All of a sudden, her eyes were burning. She lifted her face to look at the ceiling, hoping to ward the tears away, but when Felassan ran his palm over her hair, a treacherous tear slid down her cheek.

She hastily wiped it away. Then Felassan spoke to her in a gentle voice. “ _Avise alas’nirelan._ You see, I knew you had walked through fire.”

She swallowed her tears, then attempted to smile. “Look at you, figuring me out with your super observation skills.”

He smiled faintly, but his reply was serious. “I see now too why family is so important to you.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, none of this was Marin’s fault. He’s just… it’s shit luck. Shit genetics and shit luck. And… I mean, I’d be lying if I said I never got mad at him when he was at his worst,” she admitted with difficulty. “We got in some pretty fucking ugly arguments, especially when he was psychotic and manic at the same time. But he’s my brother,” she said fiercely. “I wasn’t going to just let him get arrested and — fuck, who knows, get killed ‘by accident’ by the police or something.”

Felassan nodded. His expression was utterly serious now. “Your commitment to him is… genuinely admirable, Tamaris. Truly.”

She shook her head at this; there was nothing to admire. She’d just done what was necessary. But Felassan wasn’t finished speaking. “I am also sorry that your parents weren’t there for you the way you were there for Marin,” he said.

Something twisted painfully in her chest at this. She glanced at him, and her heart twisted again to find him gazing at her with such understanding in his face. “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“You said they were useless,” he said.

Her gut jolted. “No I didn’t.”

“You did,” Felassan said gently.

Her jaw dropped. “Did I really? Oh fuck. Wow, I really am a bitch.” She laughed weakly, but her chest was aching again.

Felassan clicked his tongue. “You aren’t a bitch, Tamaris. You were a twenty-four-year-old woman who was forced to quit school and take care of her brother and her parents at the same time.”

She recoiled slightly. “I wasn’t — that’s not true. I wasn’t taking care of my parents.”

“Weren’t you?” Felassan asked. “Emotionally, if not physically?”

“I…” She faltered, annoyed and unnerved by what he was saying, especially since he wasn’t totally wrong. Her parents had started coming to her with every complaint about Marin and every anxiety and every worry, even going so far as to talk about their marital problems to Tamaris, and she’d borne their anxieties and soothed their concerns, even when she’d felt like she was at the end of her fucking rope. 

Felassan, meanwhile, was still talking. “You supported them through all of this. That much is clear. Did they support you?”

“I didn’t need support,” she said defensively.

“You did,” he said.

She frowned at him. Why was he talking like he knew best? “I didn’t,” she retorted. “I dealt with it just fine without any help.”

“You should not have had to,” Felassan said.

She glared at him, feeling angry now for some reason. “Look, it’s over now. It’s done. Getting pissed about it isn’t going to help anything.”

He gave her a knowing look. “It’s all right to be angry at them, you know.”

“Then why aren’t _you_ angry?” she burst out.

He lifted his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“Why aren’t you angry at your parents or at Solas, then?” she demanded. “They fucking shunned you for no good reason. They — my parents were useless, okay? Fine,” she snapped. “They were useless, and they put all their shit on me instead of trying to help out. But Marin was fucking sick. What was your parents’ excuse? If I’m allowed to be mad, why aren’t you?”

His expression melted into something warm and slightly sad that made him look older than he was. He reached out and gently stroked her chin. “You mistake my forgiveness for forgetting, _avise_. It is possible to love someone and be angry at them.”

“So you are still mad at your parents and at Solas, then?” she pressed. She didn’t know why she was attacking him like this, and part of her mind knew she should stop, that she was on the verge of being unkind, but she couldn’t stop herself.

He sighed dramatically. “Ah, my parents: there were many reasons I moved here from Arlathan, and I would be lying if a bit of distance from my parents wasn’t one of them.” He gave her a knowing look. “I’m guessing that this is part of why you moved here, as well.”

She scowled. He was right, but she wasn’t in the mood to admit it. “And Solas? Are you still mad at him?”

“Solas and I have made our amends in ways that my parents have not been entirely capable of,” Felassan said. “I have no reason anymore to be angry at him.”

“That must be nice,” Tamaris said scathingly.

“It is, actually,” Felassan said. “Frank conversations can actually be healing sometimes. Who knew?”

She shot him a resentful look, but she couldn’t stay angry in the face of his easy smile. Finally she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m being such an asshole. I’m not mad at you. This — fuck, this isn’t even about you.”

“It is, in an indirect sort of way,” he said. “It makes a great deal of sense why you were scared to trust me. In the space of a few months, all the people you trusted the most left you in the lurch, whether on purpose or not.”

His words were blunt, and they hit her in the chest like a punch. Almost on instinct, she opened her mouth to snap at him, but something about the understanding and the tenderness in his face stopped her.

She glared at him without speaking, angry at him for saying such blunt words and angry at him for looking so fucking sympathetic while saying them. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that what he’d said was true. 

All this time, it wasn’t just Perron who had betrayed her. Without meaning to, through no fault of their own, her parents had betrayed her too, shifting abruptly from the role of caregivers to the role of those who needed care. And Marin — her big brother Marin, who had always known where his life was going and what he was doing next: his mind had betrayed him and forced him to betray her too.

A sudden wave of horrible emotion surged in her throat and behind her eyes. _Fuck,_ she thought, and she turned away from Felassan and covered her face with her hand.

She clenched her teeth to stop herself from crying, but Felassan was gathering her close. “Hey,” he crooned. “Easy, _avise._ It’s all right.” 

She sobbed suddenly and wiped her face, but the tears were coming thick and fast, and Felassan’s hand stroking her arm and her hair wasn’t making it any easier for her to control herself. She sobbed again and covered her face with both hands, and Felassan gently tucked her head against his neck.

She clutched his neck and cried, and he carefully stroked her hair and her shoulder and her back, smoothing his palm along her side and gently teasing the tangles from her hair. The touch of his hand was so soothing, as soothing as the heat of his bare chest through the thin fabric of her borrowed shirt, and by the time her tears were ebbing away to a few stray hiccups, she was feeling so boneless and spent and comforted that she never wanted to move out of his lap. 

He smoothed his palm over her hair. “I have good news for you,” he murmured. “Would you like to hear it?”

Tamaris huffed at his jocular tone and wiped her eyes. “Sure.”

“Everything will be fine,” he told her.

She _tsk_ ed, but he ignored her and went on. “Do you know how I know that?”

“How?” she muttered.

“Because I am a slow arrow,” he said. “I know what it looks like when someone is taking the long and convoluted route to get where they’re meant to be. And you, _avise,_ are a slow arrow too.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “How do you figure?”

“Think about it,” he said. “You living here in Val Royeaux, working as a tattoo artist, running into me… None of these things would have happened if not for this series of unprompted unpredictable events that you told me about just now. Events that took extra time and circuitous routes for you to get around.” He gently chucked her chin. “You’re a slow arrow who made your way through fire, Tamaris. If I’m fine, you will be too.”

He was smiling, smiling in that warm and confident way of his with that characteristic little curl of humour at the corners of his lips. He looked so confident, and his arm was still curled around her in a comforting embrace, and the more Tamaris looked at him, the more she felt like her heart was swelling. 

_I love you,_ she thought. A terrifying thought, and one she was too cowardly to share, but one that she couldn’t deny anymore.

Overcome with love, with gratitude, with how fucking perfect he was, she pushed herself out of his lap, then straddled him and hugged him hard.

He immediately wrapped his arms around her. “This is nice,” he said softly. “I should say wise things more often if this is what I get.”

She gently nipped his ear, and he snickered and shied away from her mouth. They settled into their embrace once more, and Tamaris savoured the sweet herbal scent of his hair and the unflinching tightness of his arms around her body.

A long, comfortable moment later, she leaned away from him slightly. “I have to go home,” she said.

For a split second, his smile slipped. “Oh,” he said. “You could — or you could stay.” He patted the mattress. “As you can see, this bed is big enough for two.”

“Yeah, I’m going to come back,” she said. “But I have to get my pill.” 

His face melted into a look of surprise, then lifted into a smile — a brilliant, happy smile that made Tamaris feel like her heart was honestly going to burst. 

She stroked his cheek. “Want to walk me home like a fucking gentleman?” she said.

His smile curled with humour. “I thought you were equally happy to assault people with your housekeys.”

She shrugged. “Some handsome brat told me that doing that is illegal in this fucking country.”

“Sounds like a very wise brat to me,” Felassan said.

She smirked and poked his abs, and he pinched her butt. She yelped and pinched his side in return, and they continued to scuffle childishly until he rolled her onto her back and pinned her hands to the bed.

He smiled mischievously as he settled between her legs. “You really are a terrible minx. Whatever should I do with you?”

She smiled and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Walk me home and bring me back,” she said. “Then you can do whatever you want.” 

“Hm,” he murmured. “That sounds like a very enticing promise.” He brushed his nose over hers and took her lips in a gentle kiss, and as Tamaris kissed him back, she thought about his suggestion that she was a slow arrow too. 

Maybe Felassan was right. Maybe she did have to go through all that shit with Marin and her parents and Perron in order to find her way here, to a career she liked and a new home with two beloved friends and this particular bed with this particular perfect man. 

Maybe Tamaris was a slow arrow too. And in Felassan, she had finally found her target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Solas/Nare, with NSFW ART! Oh gods, the art. You guys are gonna die because I know I did. This is just my ghost talking. 👻
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, and my beloved artist and partner-in-crime is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	32. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW art! Proceed with caution. 🍆👀

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! ❤ To ring it in, some Solare smut and STEAMY NSFW ART. 🔥🔥🔥

###  SOLAS 

Nare was nude and fast asleep on his couch, and Solas was torn.

He gazed wistfully at her, admiring the peaceful sprawl of her limbs and the cozy folds of the throw blanket that just barely veiled her sleeping form. She was curled on her side, her right arm resting on her hip and her left hand trailing carelessly on the floor, and as he watched the rise and fall of her chest with her slow and easy breathing, he was torn between two thoughts: should he selfishly savour the thrill of having her here, so comfortable and so perfectly naked in his home? Or should he feel guilty for luring her into this predicament that forced them both to lie to all of the people they most cared about? 

He knew he ought to feel guilty, particularly since the upcoming lab party at his home was going to force their lies to be more overt than just passively hiding their carrying-on. But seeing her here, flushed and fragrant with sex and completely worn out by the punishment and pleasure he’d spent the morning giving to her: seeing her here was like a drug, a drug he was becoming more dependent on with every moment he spent with her. And as much as he knew he should feel guilty, he simply didn’t.

He admired her in silence, the luminosity of her skin and the dips and hollows of her body that swallowed the noontime light that filtered softly across her skin. He would love to draw her, to capture the sight of her in the stark softness of graphite and cardstock, but he couldn’t afford the time that such a precious task deserved just now. 

With some regret, he stepped away from the couch and returned to his living room desk, and with a last fond look at Nare, he tapped the trackpad to wake up his laptop. 

The screen lit up to show his university email account, and specifically the email that Abelas had sent him late on Friday morning. The email was about Morrigan trying to use some old regulations from the archeology department to stymie their exclusive access to the Vir’Abelasan. Solas had promised to look over the regulations on Friday night, but grading his seminar papers had taken longer than he anticipated.

He clicked open the scanned documents that Abelas had sent and started skimming them, then wilted slightly; it was clear from a cursory read that these regulations weren’t relevant to their department, and any attempts on Morrigan’s part to use them would be little more than grandstanding and stalling for time. He flicked quickly through the documents for a couple minutes longer, then picked up his phone and typed out a text.

_Solas Sun Oct 4 12:54  
I looked over the documents Morrigan sent you. They’re not worth your time to read in detail. _

_Abelas 12:54  
I would like to discuss this further, if you have the time. It should not require more than a few minutes._

Solas sighed and ran his palm over his scalp, then stood from his desk and padded into the kitchen. He tapped the ‘call’ button and leaned against the kitchen counter as he waited for Abelas to pick up.

He didn’t have to wait for more than one ring. “ _Good afternoon,_ ” Abelas said in Elvhen. “ _I’m surprised to hear that you are working_.”

“ _As am I_ ,” Solas said wryly. “ _I would prefer not to continue doing so for long. What did you want to discuss?_ ”

“ _The regulations Morrigan found,_ ” Abelas said. “ _The–_ ”

Solas interrupted. “ _Before you continue, I would remind you that those regulations do not apply to our department_.”

“ _But the arguments she makes could be drawn from those documents_ ,” Abelas said. “ _And in order to–_ ”

“Abelas,” he said firmly. “ _They do not apply to our department or to our program. They are not applicable to us._ ”

There was a brief silence. Solas fancied he could hear Abelas’s resentment through the phone. 

He smiled faintly as he spoke again. “ _Do you see how I’m stonewalling you right now?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” Abelas muttered. 

Solas nodded. “ _This is the tack we will take if Morrigan attempts to use that very old, very anachronistic documentation against us_ ,” he said. “ _To acknowledge and engage her irrelevant arguments would be to validate them_.”

“ _I understand,_ ” Abelas grumbled.

“ _Good,_ ” Solas said. “ _Then I can assume she will be unsuccessful in getting a rise out of you during our next meeting with her and Vivienne?_ ”

“ _Don’t speak as though you are immune to her provocation_ ,” he complained. “ _She rattles your cage as well sometimes_.”

Solas sighed and leaned his elbow on the counter. “ _You’re right, I admit. The worst is when she begins to carry on as though she knows our culture better than we do. Do you remember the time she complained about deserving a fair chance at translating the ancient relics, when her own grasp of written Elvhen is passable at most?_ ”

Abelas huffed. “ _Yes, I recall that argument. I believe that was also the time Dr. de Fer commanded you both to get out of her office._ ”

Solas smirked. “ _It may have been, yes. In my defense, that was quite some time ago_.”

Abelas chuckled, and Solas’s smile widened at the rare sound of his mirth.

“ _Speaking of Elvhen translations_ ,” Abelas said, “ _I believe Athera will be able to start assisting us in this capacity in a few short months_.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “ _Really? That is excellent news._ ”

“ _I agree_ ,” Abelas said. “ _She is a very fast learner. With her assistance in addition to Merrill’s, we will be able to translate our works all the more quickly for publication in Orlais._ ”

“ _I thought that translating our works for consumption by the rest of Thedas was a task that was low on your priority list,_ ” Solas said.

“ _Athera is very enthusiastic about it_ ,” Abelas replied. “ _I would not deny her a task that she says she would enjoy, particularly as she is so efficient at completing her usual daily tasks._ ”

“ _And to think you once resented her presence in the lab,_ ” Solas teased.

“ _I am capable of admitting when my judgment was incorrect_ ,” Abelas said, a bit stiffly.

“ _I know you are_ ,” Solas said gently. “ _I aim only to jest._ ”

Abelas grunted, and Solas forced himself not to laugh. “ _Have you had any further thoughts about… romantic pursuits?_ ” he asked instead.

“ _I have, yes_ ,” he said. There was a pause, and Solas waited quietly for Abelas to process his thoughts. 

His response, however, was not about Athera. “ _I took your advice and asked Felassan for help._ ”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “ _Ah, good. Was he helpful?_ ”

“ _Yes, in fact,_ ” Abelas said. “ _With all his tomfoolery and his youth, I forget at times how sage he can be._ ”

“ _You should tell him so,_ ” Solas said. “ _He’d be pleased to hear it._ ”

“ _Too pleased_ ,” Abelas retorted. “ _I would never hear the end of it_.”

Solas chuckled, and Abelas spoke again. “ _If I may ask, why are you talking so quietly?_ ”

His stomach jolted. “ _Am I?_ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” Abelas said. “ _You sound as though you are trying not to wake someone._ ”

Solas’s thoughts instantly went to Nare. He hadn’t even realized he was keeping his voice low. “ _Ah,_ ” he said. He cast his eyes around the kitchen for inspiration, and his gaze fell on Fenor, who was grooming herself on a kitchen table chair. 

“ _Fenor is asleep on my lap,_ ” he fibbed. “ _I’m trying not to disturb her._ ”

“ _I see,_ ” Abelas said in a flat tone.

As though she could sense Solas’s attention, Fenor looked up and meowed, and Solas smiled. “ _She says hello,_ ” he told Abelas. “ _She is looking forward to seeing you come the weekend._ ”

“ _That is my cue to hang up,_ ” Abelas said dryly. 

Solas laughed, and Abelas spoke again in a softer tone. “ _Thank you again for the call. I appreciate that you would rather not think about work on the weekend._ ”

“ _It is no bother,_ ” Solas said kindly. “ _I appreciate that Morrigan’s meddling hits close to home for you._ ”

“ _Literally, given our goals,_ ” Abelas agreed.

Solas smiled faintly. “ _Ha, yes._ ”

“ _Until tomorrow, then,_ ” Abelas said.

“ _Goodbye,_ ” Solas said, and he ended the call. 

He slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned back against the counter with a sigh. _Home,_ he thought. How strange it would be to eventually return home. Every day and every year they spent here in Orlais brought them a step closer to returning to Arlathan, and as Abelas had said, returning to Arlathan had always been their goal. Their aim had always been to secure the exclusive rights to the Vir’Abelasan, then finish out their contracts at the University of Orlais and resume their posts at the University of Arlathan, where they would collaborate with a few other Arlathani colleagues to coordinate the excavation and study of the precious artifacts from the Arbour Wilds. 

This was one of Mythal’s dying wishes, and one she had insisted that Solas fulfill.

In fairness to Mythal, it was a goal he had once agreed with on principle, particularly when he discovered that the Well of Sorrows would otherwise fall into such supercilious hands as Morrigan’s. But as time had gone on, he’d come to know people such as Merrill and Dagna and Tamlen: people who cared deeply about Arlathani culture and history, but who were not Arlathani themselves, and in Dagna’s case, not even elvhen. The more Solas got to know them and to know the rest of the world outside of his home, the more he began to wonder whether taking complete control of the Well of Sorrows was… perhaps a bit too exclusionary.

Felassan certainly thought so — a fact he made clear every time this topic came up, and a reason that Solas attempted to avoid discussing this with him, particularly when Abelas was in the room. On those rare occasions when their conversations turned to the topic of their return home and Mythal’s final wishes, Solas often felt like that classic literary depiction of a man torn between the motives of two opposing demons: Felassan on one shoulder telling him that Mythal’s wishes were selfish and shouldn’t be honoured, and Abelas on the other shoulder telling him that they had a duty to fulfill their mentor’s wishes and go home. It was uncomfortable to feel so uncertain, hence Solas did his best to steer the conversation away from such troublesome issues whenever they came up. 

_I must return home,_ he reminded himself. _It is what Mythal wanted._ And for most of his life — all of his life that he could remember, really — doing as Mythal suggested had served him well. It wasn’t until he was in his late twenties when he began to question his place in her political plans, especially when his friendship with Felassan began opening his eyes to the uglier side of Arlathan that he had been shielded from as Mythal’s adopted ward. 

He stepped away from the counter and filled the kettle, then flicked it on and settled back again with a sigh. Felassan wasn’t wrong when he pointed out that Mythal had changed over time, becoming more nationalistic and conservative as her political party gained support and traction. But Solas had difficulty reconciling Felassan’s realistic yet unflattering view of Mythal with his own memories of the nurturing and fiercely protective Mythal who had adopted him without hesitation after the car accident that had claimed his parents’ lives.

Solas was only four years old at the time of the accident — barely old enough to remember that Mythal wasn’t his mother by blood. The adoption had happened so quickly and seamlessly that Solas’s young life had barely been disrupted by the loss; Mythal had explained the drastic change in his life so carefully and compassionately that even to this day, Solas marvelled at the fact that the incident had left him with no true feelings of loss. He may have lost his parents when he was four, but he had immediately gained a new guardian: a guardian he knew well, given that Mythal was a close family friend. A guardian who had nurtured him and encouraged him and treated him not as a child, but almost as a small adult — an intelligent person who was capable of making decisions for himself and deciding on his own fate, whether that fate was to wear a blue cardigan or a brown one to school, or deciding which of several generous scholarship-offering Arlathani universities to attend for his PhD.

He gazed at the kettle with an idle sort of melancholy as he waited for it to boil. The problem was this: he remembered Mythal fondly, but he knew that Felassan had a point. Mythal had never warmed to Felassan, what with his criminal past and his irreverent manners, and Solas knew that it said something about Mythal’s character that she judged Felassan so harshly based on those factors alone. Solas also acknowledged that Mythal had become increasingly inflexible and disinclined to listening to others’ counsel as time went on, including Solas’s counsel. One might even say that she’d become paranoid in the last couple years of her career and her life. But still, even acknowledging all of her flaws, she was still the only parent Solas had known, and he owed her everything.

“You don’t owe her your life,” Felassan had yelled, almost two years ago now. “You don’t owe her the choice to make a life of your own. That is what you’d be sacrificing if you follow her wishes. You’d be giving up your whole life to a person who is no longer even with us, and I refuse to follow you down that particular path.”

“And so you’re leaving the lab,” Solas said flatly. “You disagree with my actions, and for that you’re leaving behind everything we’ve built together for the past eight years?”

“That is not the only reason I’m leaving, but yes,” he said. “That’s certainly a part of it.” 

“You are being shortsighted and petty,” Solas snapped.

Felassan’s face twisted into a humourless smile. “Or maybe I’m just lucky to have the foresight to divorce myself from the illogical wishes of my mentor.”

Stung and angered by Felassan’s disloyalty, Solas narrowed his eyes. “Go, then,” he said coldly. “But if you go, do not think to contact me again.”

“Solas?”

Jolted from his ugly memories, Solas looked up. Nare was standing in the kitchen doorway wearing his thin t-shirt and a quizzical expression.

He exhaled softly and returned her smile as he stepped away from the counter. “Sleep well?”

“Too well,” she said ruefully. “I didn’t mean to take a nap during our nice day together.”

“It’s all right,” he said as he approached her. “You clearly needed the rest.”

She laughed at his sly remark, then gave him a coy little smile. “Your lessons can be pretty exhausting, professor.”

He chuckled and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her shirt to caress her hips, pleased to find her wearing no underwear. “Perhaps we should work on your stamina, then,” he remarked.

“Yes please,” she said pertly. Her face was bright with interest — an interest that Solas was constantly grateful for. He still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he and Nare felt so well-matched, and not just on a sexual level. He couldn’t stop marvelling at how easily and comfortably she had settled into his apartment in the space of a week, or that he could find such comfort and joy in someone that he had known for less than two months.

He also couldn’t help but feel bitter that the person he felt so close to was the one person he should be avoiding. 

She squeezed his forearm. “Hey, are you all right?” 

He pulled himself from his thoughts. “I’m well,” he said, and he smoothed his palm over her hair. “Come. Let’s go back to the couch.”

She smiled at him as he ushered her into the living room. “Are you going to lie down with me?”

“I was planning to, if that’s all right,” he said.

“Of course,” she said happily. “I was sad to wake up without you.”

He glanced at her worriedly. “Were you?”

She chuckled and squeezed his arm. “I’m just teasing. Though I did wonder where you’d gone.”

He made a little face. “Forgive me. I was speaking briefly to Abelas about a work-related matter.”

“Working on the weekend?” she said as she sat on the couch. “You don’t usually do that.”

He sat beside her. “I don’t, no,” he said. “But I have been regrettably distracted as of late.” 

“Oh really?” she said. “Distracted by what?” 

He studied her affectionately. She sounded very innocent, but her ocean-blue eyes were bright with humour, and she was so very beautiful that she made his chest hurt. 

He tenderly grazed her cheekbone with his knuckles. “No one has ever drawn my attention from my work in quite the way that you do,” he said softly.

Her smile softened, and Solas’s heart thumped in response to the joy in her face. He kissed her forehead and laid back on the couch. “Come,” he coaxed. “Lie down with me. And take this off.” He rubbed the hem of her — his — t-shirt between his fingers.

She smiled cheekily before pulling off the shirt, but she didn’t say the ‘yes, professor’ that he expected. Instead, she stretched out beside him on the couch and petted his bare chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she said. “You looked a little sad.”

He sighed and pulled up the throw blanket to keep her warm. “I’m sorry. It was not my intention to cast a pall on our day.”

“You’re not casting a pall,” she said. “But you can tell me if there’s something making you sad.”

Her expression was warm and kind, and that bittersweet ache pulsed behind his ribs as he studied her lovely face. He had his qualms about following Mythal’s wishes, but he had never really questioned that he would return to Arlathan some day. There had never been anything keeping him in Orlais. But now, with Nare’s warm nude body pressed against him on his couch…

_Do not even think it,_ he warned himself. Instead of sharing his dangerous thoughts, he asked for hers instead. “Do you miss your home?” he asked. 

“You mean the reserve?” she asked. 

Solas nodded, mildly surprised that she had even asked for the clarification. But he supposed she had been living in Kirkwall for almost five years before coming out to Val Royeaux. 

“Sometimes,” she said. “But whenever I miss the clan or my parents, I just go home for a visit. It’s not that far by train — just a few hours. Almost six if I’m feeling cheap and I take a bus,” she said with a smile, “but still reasonable for a weekend trip.”

“Are such brief visits home enough for you?” he asked. “Enough to feel… grounded, I suppose?”

Her expression grew pensive. Instead of replying right away, she shifted onto her back and gazed up at the ceiling, and Solas rolled onto his side so he was facing her. 

He slipped his hand under the blanket to rest on her naked hip, and she shot him a little smile before replying. “Honestly, I don’t really know that I’d call the reserve ‘home’ anymore.”

He raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised by this. Merrill had always given him the impression that the Dalish were very tied to their clan’s home bases. “Would you consider Val Royeaux your home now, then?” he asked, but he was fairly sure he knew the answer to this; Nare had never expressed any special fondness for this city or country. 

She hummed thoughtfully, then shook her head as Solas had predicted. “Not really,” she said. “I think… well, most people think of ‘home’ as being… usually it’s the place they were born and raised. Like a particular place where they feel really comfortable, you know? And I mean, I feel comfortable at home with Tam and Athera in our apartment. But I also feel comfortable here in your apartment,” she said with a smile.

He returned her smile and traced his thumb over her hipbone, and her smile widened. She took Solas’s hand and pulled his arm around her bare waist, and a moment later they were snuggled with her back against his chest as he held her close. 

He inhaled the sweet citrus scent of her hair against his cheek, and she sighed happily and laced her fingers with his. “I can make myself comfortable almost anywhere, really,” she said. “But whether that means I’m at home in all those places…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I feel more at home in some places than others, for sure. Like…” She hesitated, and Solas tilted his head quizzically as he waited for her to go on. 

She shrugged again and let out a little laugh. “It sounds silly, maybe, or… I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say so. But I, um – I like it here at your apartment. But maybe that’s just because you’re here,” she said in a rush. 

His heart stuttered at the implication in her words, but Nare was still talking — or babbling, really. “Um, I – I don’t know if this makes sense,” she said. “I feel like I’m talking a lot but I… I don’t know if that makes sense.” She let out another little nervous laugh. “This is why I’m an artist. My words aren’t so great.” 

“No,” Solas said firmly. “That is not true.”

She twisted slightly to look over her shoulder at him, and he gazed seriously into her wide blue eyes. “You discount yourself too easily, Nare. Your words…” He paused to let the aching feeling in his throat settle. “I understand what you mean,” he finished.

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes,” he said softly. The feeling of not quite being rooted, of ‘home’ being not just a comfortable place, but something far more precious… 

Without knowing it, Nare had put words to the feelings he’d long had but not thought much about, and which he’d been feeling more acutely since this fateful semester began. 

She smiled at him, then shifted slightly in his arms so she could look at him more easily. “What about you? Do you miss home?”

_I am home,_ he thought — and was immediately unnerved by the thought. It was such a heavy thought, one so deeply imbued with complications and implications, a thought premised on ties that were forbidden and which would ultimately, eventually, get in the way of his — Mythal’s — goals… 

He studied Nare’s lovely guileless face for a moment, then squeezed her fingers beneath the blanket. “There is nowhere I would rather be than here, with you,” he said truthfully. 

A brilliant smile curled her lips, making her even more beautiful than she already was, and Solas smiled back at her, unable to retain his melancholy in the face of her beauty. 

He carefully disentangled his fingers from hers, then traced his knuckles along the line of her jaw before brushing his lips to hers in a kiss. She was still smiling as she kissed him back, and he savoured the inherent joy in her kiss, the sheer feeling of happiness that was carried in her lips as she parted them for him. 

He traced her chin with his thumb, coaxing her lips wider so he could deepen the kiss before cradling her neck in his palm. For a long, idyllic moment, Solas and Nare simply kissed, and Solas enjoyed the sheer simple pleasure of her mouth and the warmth of her tongue twining with his own while he cradled the delicate column of her neck in his palm.

It wasn’t long before Nare began to move, however. She shifted her hips beneath the blanket, stretching her spine subtly and pressing her pelvis back toward his hips, and his breath hitched as the curves of her bottom pressed into his groin. 

He sighed against her lips and kissed her more firmly, sealing his lips over hers and tasting the heat of her mouth with his tongue, and Nare moaned softly — a muffled little vibration of sound that he felt against his lips more than he actually heard. Her moan was like a spark, flickering through his abdomen and bringing his already-sated desire back to life, and as Nare continued to brush her bottom against his groin, he could feel his cock unfurling and straightening in his loose linen pants. 

She moaned again and pressed herself more firmly back into his hips, and Solas broke their kiss to gasp against her lips — a short-lived gasp, as Nare immediately curled her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close once more. 

She nipped his lower lip and kissed him greedily. Riled and encouraged by the hunger of her kiss, Solas shifted his palm on her neck until his thumb and fingers were framing her throat — not even squeezing, just cradling the delicate shape of her throat as though he _might_ squeeze, but even that alone seemed to be enough for Nare: she gasped and rolled her hips, an undulating wave of movement that shifted the blanket loose from her body. 

Unable to resist the sight of her nudity, Solas broke away from her lips to look at her, and his cock throbbed eagerly in his pants. Her rosy nipples were hard little points begging to be touched, and the curve of her hip dipped hypnotically into the beautiful planes of her belly down toward the vee of her thighs, and — ah, if he could just angle her body a little better to see…

He released her throat and took hold of her thigh, lifting her thigh so he could gaze shamelessly between her legs, and Nare bucked her hips and mewled. “Solas…”

He exhaled hard and stared at her sex, torn by two equally tempting lures. What did he prefer more: the sound of his name in Nare’s breathy pleading voice, or the sheen of want that was already painting the inner margins of her thighs?

He stroked her thigh, enraptured by her velvety skin as he slid his palm from her knee down along the inside of her thigh, and she bucked her hips again. “Solas, please!” 

He kissed her abruptly, delving his tongue deep into her mouth as though to taste the sheer desire of her words, and she moaned and suckled his tongue. All the while, he kept stroking her thigh, running his palm from the apex of her thighs to her knee and back, and he didn’t stop caressing her until she broke their kiss with another breathy whimper. 

She tugged pleadingly on the back of his neck. “Solas, I need you, please…”

“I can see that,” he murmured. He traced his fingers through the slippery dew on the inside of her thigh, then gave her a tiny smile. “I thought you might have had enough after your discipline this morning.” 

She burst out a breathless little laugh. “I thought so too, but you — _ah_ — Solas, I just…” She trailed off with a moan; Solas was very lightly petting her folds now.

She panted and curled her hips toward his hand, and Solas gently kissed her lips before speaking again. “What were you going to say?”

She whimpered and twisted her spine, then whimpered again when he stubbornly kept his fingers moving in a light and gentle caress. “Everything is so good with you,” she burst out. “I just — I always want m-more…”

A rush of tenderness swelled in his chest. He knew precisely what she meant. Seeing her like this, twisting and whimpering under his hands even after the hours he had spent teasing and pleasuring her this morning, insatiable and desirous for _him_ : it was mesmerizing, addictive, like throwing oil into the flames of his own ever-present desire for her. Nare was the only partner who had ever made him feel this way — like no matter how often he had her or how many times he made her arch and cry out his name in the space of a day, it would never quite be enough to fill the fierce and tender longing that brought him such joy when she was here, and which made him suffer such a bitter ache when she left. 

“You are a constant temptation to me as well, Nare,” he said softly. “Your unstinting desires, the way you look and feel…” He traced her folds lightly with his fingers, delighted when she twisted her hips and moaned again.

He brushed his lips over her ear. “You are like a spirit of passion,” he murmured. “The passion in your nature is evident in the movements of your body and in your art. It is one of your qualities that stuns and captures me the most.”

She whimpered and arched her spine. “You really are a — a sweet talker,” she panted.

He chuckled softly. “I assure you, you are the only one who feels that way.” Then he lifted his hand from between her legs and brushed his fingers over her lips. 

Her tongue instantly darted out to taste her own musk, and Solas’s gut clenched with lust. He watched hungrily as she sucked the tips of his fingers, then he cradled her jaw in his hand and kissed her hard. 

She plunged her tongue into his mouth and arched her spine to rub back against him, and Solas groaned into her mouth. The flavour of her lust, the sleek heat of her tongue, the eager pressure of her ass against his cock — a pressure he couldn’t fully enjoy through the thin but present barrier of his pants…

He broke reluctantly from her lips. “I would have you now. Right here,” he panted. “If you feel ready to go again?”

“Yes!” she yelped. “Yes, Solas, please—”

He kissed her again to hush her pleas, then slowly peeled away from her lips. “All right,” he whispered. “Then I need a moment.” He extracted his other arm from around her shoulder and started to push himself upright, but Nare grabbed his wrist.

“No, please don’t go,” she begged.

“It is only for a moment,” he promised. “I must fetch a condom.”

“You don’t — we can — I’m on birth control,” she blurted.

He paused in surprise. “You are?” He had assumed she wasn’t, since it had been a few years since she’d had sex. 

“Yes, I have an IUD,” she said. “And I, um, I’m clean. I — well, I had a blood test but it was a while ago, but I haven’t been with anyone since…” She dropped his gaze. “Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up now, it’s so awkward…”

“No, I am glad you mentioned it,” he said quickly. “It is something I had been meaning to discuss with you. But somehow we kept becoming distracted.”

She smiled at his wry tone and relaxed, and he settled down behind her once more. “I was also tested recently, and I’m clean as well,” he said. “So you have nothing to fear on that front.”

She nodded, and her smile turned cheeky. “And you aren’t planning to seduce anyone else with your sweet talking?”

Solas scoffed and tickled her bare belly, and she flinched and squeaked with laughter. Then he gently stroked her jaw and looked her in the eye. “The very idea of seducing someone else is absurd. Not when you are so deeply captivating.”

Her smile softened in a way that squeezed his heart. She tilted her chin up for a kiss, and Solas happily complied, slanting his mouth firmly over hers while reaching down to untie the drawstring of his pants, and by the time he had managed to push his pants down, Nare was whimpering against his lips and writhing against his chest. 

He slid his hand around her waist once more and traced his palm from her belly up to her breast, and Nare broke from his kiss with a gasp as he caressed her nipple, but the caress didn’t last long; his hand was on the move still, moving higher to frame her throat, and when his fingers were curled around her throat in a gentle grip, she sobbed and bucked her hips back toward him. 

“Solas, please!” she begged. “Please, I need you…”

He kissed her gently, then brushed his nose to hers. “Open your legs,” he whispered. “Open them wide for me, Nare.” 

She immediately lifted her upper leg, and Solas gripped her thigh and slid his cock through her slick and swollen folds. She gasped and arched back to meet him, and he groaned blissfully as her silken slickness coated his length. 

He pumped his hips slowly, then kissed her cheekbone before pressing his lips to her ear. “I must confess something to you,” he murmured in a low voice. “I have been imagining this for weeks.” 

“Imagining what?” she gasped.

“Pressing myself inside of you with nothing between us,” he said. “Feeling your heat around me — your perfect tightness and your warmth.” He stroked her inner thigh, then slid his hand up her body once more until he was gripping her throat, and all the while he was pumping his hips, sliding his length through her silken folds and making himself more desperate with every teasing thrust.

Nare mewled and gripped his wrist, and Solas breathed hard as he slid himself through her heat. She was already so slick, so warm and perfect even though he wasn’t even inside of her yet, and this time when he filled her up, when he claimed her and sank inside of her to lure those perfect pleasured cries from her throat, it would be with nothing between them. He would be bare for her, and she would be completely open to him, and when he came… 

His restless, wolflike side stirred and stretched, sending a fresh flush of red-hot lust sizzling through his abdomen. The thought of finishing inside of her, of filling her not just with his cock, but with his come? Of marking her this way, with such clear and tangible signs of his pleasure, of seeing her marked in such a possessive and personal way: the thought was driving him wild, making him harder and more desperate for her with every thrust.

He dragged in a rasping breath, then nipped the edge of her ear, and she jolted and cried out. “Please!”

He pressed his mouth to her ear. “I have wanted to fuck you like this for weeks, Nare,” he said. “To fuck you with nothing between us, so I can feel just how slick and ready you are for me. Is that what you want as well?”

His voice was guttural now, carrying a hint of a growl, and Nare clearly heard it too; she bucked and tightened her grip on his wrist. “Yes, yes, please—”

He nipped her ear again. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, professor, please fuck me!” she wailed.

He shifted his hips and filled her in one swift stroke, and the potent combination of her hot slick depths and her enraptured cry was so _good_ that it was dizzying. He curled his hips and released her throat to palm her breast instead, and then he was fucking her in a slow and steady rhythm while her breathy moans of pleasure filled his ears.

He teased her nipple with his thumb until she was arching toward his palm, then lifted his hand to her lips once more. “Suck my fingers, Nare,” he commanded.

She opened her lips and suckled his fingers, and Solas stared shamelessly at her mouth for a minute before removing his fingers from her mouth and reaching between her legs. He traced his dampened fingers over her clit, and she jolted and gasped.

“Fuck,” she cried. “Fuck, fuck, please Solas, please…” She reached around him to grab his buttock and pull him deeper, and he couldn’t help but smile at her eagerness. 

He petted her clit carefully, savouring the swollen little bud under the tips of his fingers while he continued to fuck her slow and deep. “You feel wonderful, Nare,” he murmured. “Far better than I imagined, and I imagined this often.”

“You did?” she whimpered.

“Yes,” he said. “I have thought fondly of this: of feeling you sleek and warm around me, taking me deeply and thoroughly until I make you mine.” He dropped a kiss on her neck before brushing his lips to her ears once more. “Shall I tell you how I will make you mine, Nare?”

She nodded frantically and arched back to meet him, and Solas lightly caressed her clit as he replied. “I will fill you up with my come.”

She gasped again and dug her fingers into his buttock. “Oh fuck, gods, please…”

Spurred on by her pleasure and her fingers in his flesh, he continued to murmur dirtily in her ear. “I will fill you up until you’re dripping with me,” he promised. “I will empty myself inside of you and mark your body as mine. And when we are finished, I will watch my come dripping slowly out of you so that I can see that you are mine.”

She sobbed and nodded again. “Yes, yes please, I want you to fill me!”

“That is what you want?” he panted. “Is this what you’ve wished for as well?”

“Yes!” she cried. “I — please, I want to be yours!” 

“Then come for me first,” he purred, and he caressed her clit with his fingers. “Come for me, Nare, and then I will paint your insides with my come.”

“Fuck yes,” she gasped. She rolled her hips in time with his swirling fingers, and a tense minute later, she shuddered and arched her spine. 

“P-please — _ah_!” She cried out and dug her nails into his buttock, and Solas gasped and thrust into her hard, spurring her to let out another guttural cry.

“Solas, please!” she sobbed. “Please, please, fuck me hard, I need you—”

He slammed into her again, cutting off her words with a pleasured cry, and then he was thrusting into her hard and fast as his pleasure swelled and roiled. 

He roughly palmed her breast, then cradled her throat and turned her face toward him to take her mouth in a ravenous kiss, and all the while he continued to fill her up with fast and steady strokes, filling her up and feeling the precious heat and tightness around him: the precious feeling of her hot and slick just for him, for him alone, his Nare, so beautiful and bright with passion as she gripped his wrist and licked his tongue and bucked back to meet his hard and steady thrusts—

His climax burst, shuddering through his limbs and throbbing through his cock and sending the blood rushing to his ears in a pounding pulse. He gasped into her mouth and released her throat to curl his arm around her waist instead, and even as his climax pulsed through his body, he continued to fuck her, filling her up with his cock and relishing in her pleasured cries as he hugged her close and panted against her parted lips. 

It was a long, rapturous minute before Solas finally slowed in his frenzied thrusting. He could feel how slick he was, slick with her juices and with his own, and the thought of her being slick with his seed called to his possessive wolflike side, even though his limbs felt limp with satisfaction. 

Slowly and carefully, he pulled out of her, then finally lifted his lips from hers. “Stay here,” he murmured. “Let me look at you.” 

She nodded, and Solas shifted down on the couch. He gently pushed her legs apart so he could look at her pussy, and a very smug and masculine sort of pride spread warmly through his chest: she looked exactly as he’d hoped, thoroughly marked with his creamy release, and as Solas watched, a small drop of his seed trickled down along her rosy folds, like morning drew trailing along the petals of a flower.

_Mine,_ he thought proudly. He caressed her thigh, mesmerized by the sight of her so marked with their shared pleasure, but when Nare arched her spine with a whimper, Solas looked up to meet her eye. 

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “It’s just — you looking at me like that…”

He smiled. “Looking at you like what?”

“Like you’re a hungry wolf, professor,” she said mischievously.

He laughed softly, then crawled back up on the couch to lie beside her. He wrapped his arm around her waist in a hug, and she smiled at him as she snuggled into his embrace. “Did we make a big mess on the couch?” she asked.

“Fortunately, no,” he said. “The blanket caught most of the mess. It will be a simple matter to wash.”

“Oh good,” she said. “I was worried you’d have to get it cleaned before everyone comes over next week.”

He gave her an arch look. “That is what you were thinking about?”

She laughed. “No no. I just thought of it now.”

“Hm,” he murmured skeptically.

Nare giggled and rolled over to face him, and he smiled fondly at her she settled her thigh between his legs. Then he sighed. “I suppose it does bear thinking about how we will deal with this get-together next week.”

Her smile faded a bit. “Honestly, I’m a little worried about that.”

“What worries you?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I’m just worried I’m going to forget myself and be too familiar in your apartment. It’s going to be weird pretending I’ve never been here before. Or I might touch you or something without thinking about it.”

“I don’t think you need to worry too much,” he assured her. “You haven’t done anything obvious during seminar or when we are in the main areas of the lab together.”

“I guess so,” she said doubtfully. Then she smirked. “I’m not worried about you, though. You have such a good poker face.”

“Do I?” he said.

She laughed and lightly smacked his chest. “You know you do! You never give anything away when we’re in seminar or anything.”

He smiled faintly and stroked her arm. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes!” she said. “I’m a little jealous. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone ends up thinking I’ve got a crush on you after this party is over.” She chuckled. “Which, I mean, they wouldn’t be wrong. I do have a huge crush on you.”

“That is not the whole truth,” he said seriously. “Not when I feel just as you do.”

Her expression softened into something heart-wrenchingly tender, and Solas admired the adoration in her face before lowering his lips to hers in a kiss. She shifted closer to him and slid her arm around his waist, and they kissed slowly for a lazy and languorous moment. 

Then Nare broke from their kiss to yawn into her hand. “Sorry,” she said with a little laugh. “I’m so tired today.”

“Maybe you should go to bed earlier,” he joked. 

“Or maybe I’m just tired because of a certain professor and his lessons,” she said slyly.

Solas chuckled. “Would you care for a cup of coffee? I had started to make some before.”

“I would prefer a cup of tea,” she said. “But I guess coffee will do.”

He scoffed, and Nare laughed and cuddled closer against his chest. They eventually rose from the couch, and Solas went to the kitchen to make coffee while Nare went to the washroom to tidy up. When she eventually joined him in the kitchen, she was wearing his t-shirt again.

He handed her a mug, which she took with a smile, and Solas gazed fondly at her as she sipped her coffee. Her legs were bare and her hair was loose and tousled, and the sight of her leaning so comfortably against his counter while wearing his shirt made his heart feel so achingly full. 

She looked up from her mug and smiled. “Everything okay?”

He nodded and ran his hand over her lovely russet hair. “You look very beautiful,” he said softly. His words were a weak veneer for the way he truly felt: the wistfulness and the joy he felt when she was here, the comfort and the hint of regret he felt as he watched her making herself at home in his apartment — an apartment that had never felt more warm and full than it had since Nare had begun visiting. And resting on top of it all like a thin but present layer of frost, the uncertainty: uncertainty about his own future and Nare’s and their future together. It was an uncertainty that he’d been ignoring since the start of September, but which he found himself thinking about more and more with every moment they spent together in private. 

Truly, he had never imagined that this would happen. When the semester began, he had never imagined that he would fall so quickly into such an intense affair with his Master’s student, a Dalish woman who was more than ten years his junior. He had never imagined that he would be considering, even in a vague sort of way, the possibility of not going back to Arlathan.

When this semester began, Solas had never imagined that he would fall in love. 

Unaware of his tumultuous thoughts, Nare beamed at him, then let out a little laugh and ran her fingers through her hair. “Nice try. I look like a mess,” she said. “I should start bringing a hairbrush with me when I come over here.”

“You could leave a hairbrush here,” he suggested. 

Her face lit up. “Really?”

He nodded. “And a change of clothes, if you like. But perhaps not until after the lab party.”

She laughed and affectionately stroked his arm. “Good point. A hairbrush would be a little tough for you to explain.” 

He smiled helplessly and stepped closer to her, drawn in by the warmth of her smile and the coziness of her thinly-veiled body in his shirt. He was being careless and foolish and he knew it, but with Nare in his arms, he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

With Nare in his arms, Solas had never felt more at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Abelas and Athera!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artist who BLESSES OUR EYEBALLS WITH SMUT is [Elbenherzart!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)


	33. Romantic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is everyone doing out there? I hope you are all staying safe and warm, lovely friends. ❤ Here is some full-out fluff -- something I think we can all use right now.
> 
> Also, if anyone is interested, I have an ever-evolving Spotify playlist for this fic, which you can check out [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/14YVB4rdykwcwUW1nfWa9H?si=-1sv0igCTkWOz1_wXIV7ww) It's a very mixed bag - songs for each of the couples and for individual characters as well. Feel free to guess which songs go with whom!

###  ATHERA 

When Athera stepped into the lab on Monday morning, the first thing she did was glance into the main room in search of Abelas’s so-called ‘office surprise’.

Nothing was out of place. The central table was clear except for a few books, and the work stations looked the same as usual. The kitchenette, too, looked the same as it always did. 

Curious and a little bemused, Athera placed her airtight cake container on the kitchenette counter, then flicked on the kettle and started making coffee. While the kettle was boiling and the coffee was perking, she went into the main room and wrote a quick little note inviting everyone to help themselves, then placed the note on the cake container. 

When the kettle was boiled, she started steeping herself a cup of tea, then made her way down the hall toward her and Abelas’s offices.

She knocked lightly on Abelas’s door. “Abelas? Are you there?” 

There was no reply. Athera knocked a bit more firmly and waited for a moment longer, then gingerly opened his office door. 

His office was empty and pristinely tidy as usual, and a glance at the whiteboard calendar on the wall revealed where he was: he would be out at meetings all morning. 

_Good,_ she thought with a smile. _Then he’ll come back to a little office surprise from me._ She sidled over to his desk and reached into her bag, then carefully pulled out a smaller airtight container, along with the little note she’d written for him last night after her day of baking.

She placed the container and the note carefully in the center of his desk. She smiled at the tiny gift, then felt a little pang of nerves. What if he didn’t like it? He avoided sweets most of the time, so maybe this gift was in poor taste. But Felassan had said they were Abelas’s favourite…

_Don’t overthink it,_ she scolded herself for the millionth time. She quickly slipped out of his office and closed the door, then opened her own office door.

She stepped into the office and flicked on the light, then stopped short in surprise. Sitting in the center of her desk was a plant — an orchid to be exact. 

Her heart leapt. It was a very exotic orchid the likes of which Athera had never seen before: an orchid whose perfect unusual blooms had deep pomegranate-pink centers and rich dappled golden petals. 

She stared at the beautiful orchid with a funny tingling feeling in her limbs. _Felan’asahngar,_ she thought blankly. It was a _felan’asahngar_ plant — it had to be, it was exactly as Abelas had described. Had he — was he the one who had put this here?

Her heart did a somersault in her chest. Excited almost to the point of nausea now, she poked around delicately at the base of the plant until she found what she was looking for: a small card. 

With trembling fingers, she opened the little card, and her belly flipped at the sight of Abelas’s now-familiar handwriting.

> Athera,
> 
> This is the felan’asahngar. I was told that the common-tongue name is a ‘slipper orchid’. I will leave it to you to decide whether the common name or the Elvhen name is more fitting. 
> 
> I hope it matches your expectations of its beauty. 
> 
> \-- Abelas

Athera stared at the note. The plant was from Abelas. He — he’d brought her a _felan’asahngar_ plant and found out what the common-tongue name was.

He’d gotten her a present. Was this… was this what he’d meant by the office surprise? 

Her racing pulse ratcheted even higher. If this was the office surprise, then this was what he’d come out to the mall on Saturday to buy. He’d braved a crowded mall on a Saturday just to buy this orchid? To buy an orchid, for her?

_Oh my gods,_ she thought. _Oh my gods oh my gods._ Abelas had given her a _felan’asahngar_ plant, the plant that signified courtship and romantic love in Arlathan! But — so — did this mean—?

Was Abelas _courting_ her?

She sat down abruptly in the nearest chair and covered her mouth with her still-trembling hands. Part of her wanted to laugh hysterically, or maybe to do a little dance to celebrate the fact that her feelings weren’t one-sided after all. But the longer she sat here staring at the gorgeous orchid on her desk, the more her uncertainty began to creep back in on her.

Maybe she was assuming too much. After all, the card wasn’t romantic. She opened the card again and read it three more times, and with each reading, the cold chill of reality began to dampen her giddy excitement.

The card sounded very matter-of-fact — very much a card that she could hear in Abelas’s words. It was just information, really, nothing more: no confession of feelings, no indication that he’d given this to her for anything other than educational reasons. Maybe he just wanted her to know what a _felan’asahngar_ looked like, since they’d spent so much time talking about it. 

She sighed and gazed longingly at the plant. She so wanted to think it was something more than just a polite educational gesture, but… damn it, she just couldn’t be sure.

She nibbled her cheek for a moment, then sighed and hung up her coat and bag before going back to the kitchen to get her tea. She returned to her office and turned on her computer and started doing her usual routine, turning on her music and checking her emails and checking the lab schedule for the day, but her attention kept drifting back to the _felan’asahngar_ and its bright jewel-toned blooms. 

She tried to concentrate, tapping out a reply to a question that Tamlen had sent about the organization of the archives and putting a few events into the lab calendar, but eventually she had to stop, too rattled and distracted by her own uncertainty. 

She shot the orchid a resentful look. How dare it sit here on her desk, looking so pretty and romantic when she had no idea what exactly it meant? And how dare Abelas be away at meetings all morning so she couldn’t ask him?

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and frowned at the beautiful orchid for a moment longer. Then she pulled out her phone. She flicked open her messaging app, then started typing out a text.

_Athera Mon Oct 5 9:07 a.m.  
Are you busy? I need your brain!_

_Felassan 9:07 a.m.  
You’re lucky I’m awake. How can I help?_

_Athera 9:07 a.m.  
Lucky you’re awake? It’s past 9!_

_Felassan 9:07 a.m.  
Your point being what, exactly?_

_Athera 9:07 a.m.  
😂 You and Tam really are a matching pair_

_Felassan 9:07 a.m.  
That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’m particularly inclined to help you now._

_Athera 9:07 a.m.  
Lol great! Do you know what this is?_

_Athera 9:08 a.m.  
[img4957.jpg]_

_Felassan 9:08 a.m.  
Is this a quiz? What will happen if I lose?_

_Athera 9:08 a.m.  
Come on please just answer!!_

_Felassan 9:08 a.m.  
It is a felan’asahngar. A very nice one, too. Those are hard to find here. Where did you get it?_

_Athera 9:08 a.m.  
It was a gift from Abelas!_

_Felassan 9:08 a.m.  
Is that so?_

Athera frowned at her phone. She had no idea what to make of that answer. Was Felassan being sly or genuine? Was he laughing at her or being serious? She had no idea.

_Athera 9:09 a.m.  
Well?_

_Felassan 9:09 a.m.  
Well what? It’s a lovely gift. _

_Athera 9:09 a.m.  
What does it mean though??_

_Felassan 9:09 a.m.  
What do you think it means?_

Athera groaned and slumped in her chair. Why was he being so unhelpful?

_Athera 9:09 a.m.  
I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you! At first I thought maybe it was a romantic thing but the card that came with it wasn’t romantic or anything. But it’s a felan’asahngar plant and not like a fern or an aloe or something random, so that’s significant right?_

_Felassan 9:09 a.m.  
So you are aware of the significance of felan’asahngar, then?_

_Athera 9:10 a.m.  
Yes, it comes up a lot in Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_

_Felassan 9:10 a.m.  
How do you know that book? _

_Athera 9:10 a.m.  
Abelas lent it to me_

_Felassan 9:10 a.m.  
He did? When?_

_Athera 9:10 a.m.  
A couple weeks ago, we’ve been discussing it together and he’s helping me with the translation of the trickier Elvhen bits_

There was a pause — only about a minute, but it was long enough for Athera to be jittering with impatience by the time Felassan replied.

_Felassan 9:11 a.m.  
What are you confused about exactly?_

_Athera 9:11 a.m.  
IDK, I don’t want to assume that it means like what it means in Thenemathe!_

_Felassan 9:11 a.m.  
Where is Abelas? Is he in his office?_

_Athera 9:11 a.m.  
Nooooo he’s at meetings until like noon 😩_

_Felassan 9:12 a.m.  
All right. Athera, you are very smart. Very analytical, critical thinker, blah blah etc etc. But you’re thinking far too hard about this._

_Athera 9:12 a.m.  
What do you mean?_

_Felassan 9:12 a.m.  
Abelas bought you flowers. What does it usually mean when a man buys flowers for a woman?_

She went still at this. He was right. If this was a Hercinian drama, she would be squealing on the couch about the romance of it.

Her heart fluttered with hope, but she forced herself to quash it. _This isn’t a drama,_ she reminded herself. This was real life, and Abelas was a real man — an intelligent, stern, sensitive, dryly humorous man who had given her a beautiful courtship flower along with a very matter-of-fact note.

_Athera 9:12 a.m.  
But Abelas isn’t just an average guy! Sometimes he says and does things that are so sweet and romantic but he doesn’t exactly mean to be romantic so I don’t know what to think_

_Athera 9:12 a.m.  
Also this isn’t flowers, it’s a plant, it’s different!_

_Felassan 9:13 a.m.  
_

_Athera 9:13 a.m.  
😤 Don’t send me that gif, that’s so mean!!_

_Felassan 9:13 a.m.  
You have seen sides of Abelas in the space of 5 weeks that he has only shown to me and Solas in glimpses in all the time I’ve known him. But for all the things you see so clearly in him, somehow you have a blind spot about this one huge glaring thing. _

_Athera 9:13 a.m.  
What do you mean?_

_Felassan 9:13 a.m.  
Think about what I said. Or wrote, as it were. I’m going back to sleep now. _

_Athera 9:13 a.m.  
What?? No come on tell me_

_Felassan 9:14 a.m.  
😴_

_Athera 9:14 a.m.  
You are not sleeping already!! Felassan??_

There was no reply. Athera sighed loudly and put her phone down, then slumped her elbows on her desk and gazed wistfully at the _felan’asahngar_ , no wiser for the time she’d just wasted texting with stupid Felassan.

Although… maybe he had a little tiny bit of a point. Maybe she was being kind of dense, not to mention hypocritical. Sure, Abelas had given her a _felan’asahngar_ plant with no clear explanation for exactly what he meant by it, but by this logic, he might be just as confused when he came in and saw the little gift she’d left on his desk.

A jolt of nerves roiled in her belly. Maybe she should go to his office and take it back. But no, that would be so childish.

She groaned and rested her forehead on her desk for a second. Seriously, she really felt like she was being so childish about all of this. She could just imagine how much Tamaris would be rolling her eyes if she could hear what Athera was thinking. 

She also knew what Tamaris would suggest if Athera asked her for help about this: she would tell Athera to just woman up and ask Abelas what the fuck was going on.

_Which I would do if he was here,_ she thought peevishly. But it seemed like she’d have to wait until lunchtime to do that.

She sighed and admired the _felan’asahngar_ for a moment longer, then did a quick little search online for how to take care of a slipper orchid. Once she’d established that it was okay for the plant to have bright sunlight for a short period of the day, she lovingly moved it to the windowsill behind her so she wouldn’t be distracted. Then, after a moment’s thought, she carefully placed the tidily handwritten card from Abelas beside it. 

_There,_ she thought with a pert little nod. _Out of sight, out of mind._ And with that thought, she finally turned her mind back to her work — mostly successfully, too, which she was proud about. 

She spent the morning drafting a grant proposal for Solas and gathering documents from their archives to support their candidacy for the grant. But as the clock ticked closer to noon, when Abelas was supposed to come back, Athera’s nerves started to get the best of her again — and her stomach as well, which was rumbling loudly by the time 11:45 rolled around.

_Damn it,_ she thought in annoyance. She had really wanted to wait until Abelas got here and then maybe ask him to go for lunch with her. But the hungrier she got, the less of a state she’d be in to have a proper conversation with him about the _felan’asahngar_ and her feelings for him and whether he had feelings back or if she was just being totally off-base, even though Felassan had implied that Abelas had special feelings just for her…

Her stomach twisted with anxiety and hunger, and she rubbed her forehead in frustration. Then someone knocked on her open office door. 

_Abelas?_ she thought, and she whipped her head up to look. 

Tamlen and Dagna were beaming at her. Tamlen held up a petit-four. “Athera, these are great.”

“They’re so tasty!” Dagna chirped. “Better than the kind you can get at a bakery.”

Athera smiled at them to hide her disappointment. “Thanks, guys! I’m glad you like them.”

“We were just going to go get some lunch,” Tamlen said. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Oh,” she said blankly. She usually would have said yes with no hesitation, but she had been thinking of just nipping out quickly to grab a snack before coming back to wait for Abelas. “Um, actually—”

Dagna cheerfully interrupted her. “We’d like to buy you lunch to thank you for the tiny cakes.”

Athera waved her off. “Don’t be silly, that’s not necessary!”

“Come on,” Dagna pleaded. “Come out with us!”

“We’re going for ramyeon,” Tamlen said coaxingly. “Your favourite.”

Athera hesitated for a second longer, then caved in with a smile. “All right, you got me. I’ll come.” With just a little reluctance, she put her computer to sleep and put on her coat, then cast one last wistful glance at the _felan’asahngar_ before joining the others. 

_It’s only eleven-fifty,_ she thought. If she ate quickly with Tamlen and Dagna, she could probably make it back here before Abelas had to go to his one o’clock class. Ugh, but even if she made it back by twelve-thirty, that wouldn’t give them much time to talk…

Her stomach growled. Irritated and nervous now, she pushed aside her thoughts of Abelas. _Stop fussing,_ she scolded herself. _I’ll definitely see him at some point before the end of the day._ With that determined thought, she tuned back into Tamlen and Dagna’s chatting about the last episode of The Mandalorian as they left the history building, and she definitely did not put another moment’s thought into Abelas or his _felan’asahngar_ or his annoyingly unclear intentions.

###  ABELAS 

Abelas breathed deeply to calm his nerves as he made his way to the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab. He had come into the office slightly early this morning to leave the _felan’asahngar_ plant on Athera’s desk, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to make it back to the office before lunch. But now he wondered if perhaps he should have kept the plant in his own office and waited to give it to her in person.

He had thought it would seem more romantic to surprise her with the gift, and perhaps a bit clever as well, especially given the foolish ‘office surprise’ conversation they’d had at the mall on the weekend. But as he made his way into the history building, he started to wonder if perhaps a surprise was not the wisest idea — not when his intentions were so serious. 

He sighed as he approached the lab. _I should have known better than to try and be ‘cute’_ , he thought moodily, and he opened the lab door. 

Solas and Merrill were in the kitchenette snacking on some baked goods that someone had brought, and they both looked up as he came in. “Professor Abelas!” Merrill chirped, and she waved for him to come closer. “Would you like a petit-four?”

He opened his mouth to automatically refuse, then hesitated. “Petit-fours?” he asked. “From where?”

“They are homemade,” Solas said.

Abelas raised his eyebrows. This was a surprise. Petit-fours, or _siugen’bradh_ in Elvhen, were notoriously finicky and difficult to make. Whoever had made them must have spent the better part of a day doing so. 

Moved by his curiosity, he joined Solas and Merrill in the kitchenette and eyed the perfectly-glazed little squares of cake. “Who made them?” he asked.

“Athera,” Solas replied.

Abelas’s heart flipped. “Athera made them?” he asked. “For what occasion…” He trailed off as the scent of the _siugen’bradh_ reached his nose.

Vanilla-almond. The _siugen’bradh_ were vanilla-almond flavour: Abelas’s favourite flavour, and one that was difficult to find in Orlais.

He swallowed hard, struck dumb by a sudden wave of homesickness. Meanwhile, Merrill was happily talking as she selected another tiny cake. “Athera mentioned that she liked to bake, but I didn’t know she was this good of a baker! I should ask her for recipes.” Her eyes widened. “Or even lessons! I don’t think I need to remind you both of the time I put a tablespoon of salt into a cake instead of a teaspoon.”

Solas smiled at Merrill. “It was the thought that counted, Merrill. We appreciated your cake all the same.” Then he looked at Abelas. “Go ahead and help yourself. They are excellent.”

Abelas glanced at him. His tone was bland, but there was a hint of something knowing about his smile.

Abelas ignored him and selected a tiny cake from the container. He subtly inhaled the sweet scent, then took a tiny bite.

The cake was dense and moist, and the glaze was silky against his tongue. And the filling… _Apricot preserves,_ he thought. This was the Arlathani way of preparing petit-fours, and a treat that he hadn’t had since the last time he’d been home almost a year ago. 

He chewed slowly, feeling almost overwhelmed by the perfect reminder of home. Merrill was still chattering about cakes and recipes and a Dalish version of petit-fours that they had on feast days, but Abelas largely tuned her out, preoccupied by the _siugen’bradh_ and the bittersweet memory of eating them at his family home with his parents and his siblings and their children running all around. 

Merrill eventually scuttled off to work on a paper. By the time Abelas had finished eating the tiny cake, his stomach was growling for more, and Solas was watching him with a faint smile.

Abelas gave him an annoyed look. “ _Is there some reason you are staring at me?_ ” he asked in Elvhen.

Solas replied in a very quiet voice. “ _Your favourite kind._ ”

“ _I am well aware,_ ” Abelas muttered.

Solas went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “ _She used an authentic Arlathani recipe, as well. I’m impressed._ ”

Abelas grunted, but his heart was thumping, and not just at the reminder of home. Was it a coincidence that Athera had made his favourite kind of petit-four? Or… perhaps she had made them especially for him?

_That is not possible,_ he thought immediately. She had clearly made the _siugen’bradh_ with the intention of sharing them with the whole lab, so of course they weren’t for him. Still, the fact that she’d made authentic Arlathani _siugen’bradh_ that happened to be his favourite kind… 

“Is Athera here?” he asked in the common tongue.

“Not at the moment, no,” Solas said. “She went out for lunch with Tamlen and Dagna about ten minutes ago.”

Abelas was disappointed. He’d been anticipating her reaction to the _felan’asahngar_ , and now he wanted to know why she had decided to make Arlathani _siugen’bradh_ in this specific flavour. 

He nodded. “All right. Thank you.” He stepped out of the kitchenette.

“Are you not going to have another?” Solas asked.

Abelas paused. He dearly wanted to have another, but he really oughtn’t. “Why?” he asked.

“Because they are delicious,” Solas said. “You may have to stop me from eating them all.”

Abelas scoffed. “Your sweet tooth is your own burden to bear.”

Solas chuckled and popped another _siugen’bradh_ into his mouth before leaving the kitchenette, and Abelas watched his departure in amusement. Then, on a whim, he selected another miniature cake for himself as well.

He ate it slowly as he made his way into his office. But when he approached his desk, he stopped short in surprise.

There was a small glass food container on his desk — one that he immediately recognized as Athera’s. On top of the container was a small mint-green envelope with his name, written in Athera’s loopy handwriting.

Intrigued and pleased, he picked up the envelope and examined the contents of the container, and his heart stuttered. The container held six petit-fours, identical to the ones in the kitchenette, but with one significant difference: the petit-fours in the container were decorated. 

On the surface of each petit-four, Athera had used food colouring to paint a tiny pink-and-yellow flower.

Abelas stared at the cakes with his heart thumping in his ears. Pink-and-yellow flowers, painted on his favourite flavour of petit-fours…

He took a deep breath, then sat in his chair and opened the mint-green envelope. Inside was a small handwritten note.

> Hi Abelas!
> 
> I know you avoid eating sweets unless you really like them, but so I thought I’d make something that you like! At least, I hope you like them. Felassan found the recipe for me, so if you don’t like these petit-fours, blame him instead! XD
> 
> I know there are only 6 here, but I didn’t want to give you too many and spoil your healthy routine. I hope you can manage 6 over the next couple of days before they go stale! And if you want more, go look in the kitchenette… ^^ 
> 
> ~ Athera 
> 
> P. S. The flower is supposed to be a felan’asahngar. I don’t know what it looks like though and I’m a really bad artist, so I’m sorry if they look really blobby!

He stared at the note, his ears ringing with disbelief at the coincidence. She had surprised him with petit-fours decorated with _felan’asahngar_ , on the same day that he had decided to surprise her with a _felan’asahngar_ plant?

He smiled to himself. Then, unable to contain his uncommon feeling of giddiness, he let out a little laugh. To think he’d been worried this morning about how she would react to the _felan’asahngar_ : that she wouldn't like it, or that she would think his gesture was inappropriate. Now, in the face of the thoughtful little gift she’d given him — no, not just given him, but painstakingly made for him – it seemed ridiculous that he had been worried at all. In Abelas’s eyes, there was no question now that he and Athera both wanted the same thing.

To Abelas, it was very clear that they wanted to start dating each other. 

Feeling more cheerful now than he had all day, Abelas hung up his coat and his messenger bag, then took his lunchtime smoothie out of the minifridge and sipped it while greedily reading Athera’s note again. This time around, his eyes lit upon one little piece of information that he hadn’t put much thought into before: that Felassan had found the _siugen’bradh_ recipe for Athera. 

He eyed Felassan’s name for a moment. Then, spurred by curiosity, he put aside his smoothie and picked up his cell phone.

_Abelas 12:17  
Do you have a moment?_

_Felassan 12:17  
Only if you want to text, not if you want to talk. I’m working._

_Abelas 12:17  
Would it not be faster and less taxing on your hands to talk than to text if you are working?_

_Felassan 12:17  
Careful, your age is showing. What can I do for you?_

Abelas clicked his tongue, but he was in too good a mood to be aggravated by Felassan’s teasing.

_Abelas 12:17  
Did you give Athera a recipe for traditional siugen’bradh?_

_Felassan 12:17  
I found an authentic one for her online, yes. Why?_

_Abelas 12:17  
She made them. They are excellent._

_Felassan 12:18  
Are you trying to lure me into the lab to try them? I’ll admit, I’m tempted._

_Abelas 12:18  
That is not my reason for texting. Although you would be welcome to come and try them. She made an entire recipe’s worth. _

_Felassan 12:18  
Yummy. Why are you texting, then?_

_Abelas 12:18  
She painted a few with felan’asahngar and placed them on my desk. _

_Felassan 12:18  
Is that so?_

Abelas scoffed. He could just hear the implication and amusement in Felassan’s drawling voice. Then he realized that he wasn’t sure exactly why he was texting Felassan. He had a vague notion of wanting to know… something about Athera’s communication with Felassan. When she had gotten the recipe from him, or… perhaps what she had said to Felassan when asking for the recipe. But it would be childish to ask, particularly since he was going to speak directly to Athera about this today anyway.

Hopefully sooner rather than later. He glanced at his watch, then wilted slightly; it was already nearly twelve-thirty, and he had to leave the office in less than twenty minutes to get to his next class. If Athera didn’t return before he had to leave, he would need to wait until past three to speak to her. But even if she did return before his class, would they have enough time to discuss his intentions with the _felan’asahngar_ — and hers as well, given the gift she’d left for him?

His phone buzzed in his palm, and he looked down at the screen to find another text from Felassan.

_Felassan 12:19  
Anything else you wanted to share? Or can I get back to work?_

He hesitated. Now that he’d started disturbing Felassan, he felt a bit guilty at the idea of not saying anything else.

_Abelas 12:19  
Did you tell her that vanilla-almond was my favourite flavour?_

_Felassan 12:19  
Yes. Well, she asked, so I told her._

_Abelas 12:19  
When was that?_

_Felassan 12:20  
A few weeks ago, I think? I don’t quite remember._

Abelas blinked in surprise at this. Athera had asked Felassan about his favourite flavour of _siugen’bradh_ that long ago? Did that mean she’d been planning this little gift for weeks? But he hadn’t even been treating her particularly kindly a few weeks ago. And still she had been thinking of him with such forethought and kindness?

He glanced wistfully at the _siugen’bradh_ on his desk. How he wished she would come back from lunch so they could discuss this. 

Another message from Felassan buzzed his palm, and when Abelas read it, he huffed at the uncanny similarity between his thoughts and Felassan’s text.

_Felassan 12:20  
She isn’t in the lab at the moment, is she?_

_Abelas 12:20  
No. How do you know that?_

_Felassan 12:20  
Because you’re talking to me about the cakes and not her._

Abelas pursed his lips in annoyance as he replied.

_Abelas 12:21  
If you are concerned that I will be ungrateful and churlish, don’t be. I plan to thank her in person when she returns._

_Felassan 12:21  
Salty, are we? That’s the last time I try to be chatty with you by text._

_Abelas 12:21  
I seriously doubt that._

_Felassan 12:21  
😂 Ouch. All right, I have to get back to it. Have fun._

_Have fun with what?_ Abelas wondered, but he was loathe to disturb Felassan any further while he was working. He put his phone aside and drank his smoothie while going through his emails, but the little container of daintily painted _siugen’bradh_ kept drawing his eye.

Finally, against his better judgment but unable to resist, he opened the container and selected a cake, then ate it with a nearly-reverent sense of enjoyment.

Fifteen minutes later, Athera hadn’t returned from lunch, and Abelas had no choice but to set out for his one o’clock class. He was slightly disgruntled, but not overly so; he would return to the office after his class, and he and Athera would surely catch each other then. 

He put on his coat and looped his messenger bag over his shoulder as he left the office. He was making his way toward the main lecture hall when he spotted Athera across the street from the history building with Dagna and Tamlen – undoubtedly on their way back to the lab. 

He paused, compelled by the wish to speak to Athera but cognizant of the time — not only his need to get to his class on time, but the time he wished to spend speaking with her. Talking to her for a brief minute on the street was not nearly enough to suffice. 

Finally, with some reluctance, he turned away and set off for his class. _I will speak with her later,_ he thought. And later, when he returned to the lab, he would have Athera’s _siugen’bradh_ waiting for him.

Never before had the thought of returning to his office been so appealing.

###  ATHERA 

“... and it really makes me think that I need to learn Elvhen myself,” Dagna said earnestly. “The books and articles I could read about the Hormok site! The things I could learn!” She gave Athera an envious look. “I’m almost jealous of you, knowing how to read Elvhen. I wish I could steal that knowledge from your brain.”

Athera laughed and waved a hand. “Oh please, I’m not that great at reading it. Abel— Professor Abelas has been helping me, but I’m hardly worth being jealous of.” At the thought of Abelas, her ramyeon-filled tummy did a nervous little flip. Had he been back to the office already to see the petit-fours that she’d left on his desk? Had he eaten any? Would he even eat any of them? Was she totally off-base for making him baked goods when she knew he almost never ate them? 

_Shut up,_ she scolded herself. _No point regretting it now, what’s done is done._ She forced her attention back to Tamlen and Dagna’s conversation. 

“I don’t know that I’d recommend the Elvhen language classes they offer here,” Tamlen was saying doubtfully to Dagna. “The instructors aren’t even Dalish. Or Arlathani, for that matter.” 

Dagna’s eyes widened. “They aren’t?” 

He shook his head. “They’re both Orlesian, and the way they teach is more like a linguistics class than a practical language class. One of the TAs is half-Dalish so she’s more fluent, but she’s not the primary instructor.”

Athera wrinkled her nose. “Well, that sucks. They should change that.”

Tamlen smirked at her. “Are you going to write them a strongly worded letter?”

“You know what, I might,” Athera said belligerently. “I’ll get Solas and Abelas to sign it, and then they’d have to take it seriously.” 

“Speaking of Professor Abelas, there he goes!” Dagna said brightly.

Athera’s heart stopped as she followed Dagna’s eyeline. Sure enough, there was Abelas, heading away from the history building toward the main lecture hall where his class was held. 

_Shit,_ she thought with a sudden rush of nerves. So he had been back to the office, which meant he’d seen her gift and would know that she had seen his gift as well. And it would still be another two-plus hours before she’d know what he thought about it all!

Distracted and jittery with uncertainty, she smiled absently at Tamlen and Dagna’s chit-chat as they made their way back to the lab. When they stepped into the lab, it was to find Solas in the kitchenette eating a petit-four.

Dagna laughed as she and Tamlen sidled into the main room. “Caught red-handed, Professor Solas!”

“So it seems,” he said with a smile. He bowed his head to Athera. “My compliments to the baker. These are excellent.”

“Thanks!” she said brightly. “I should really give credit to the internet though, I used a recipe that Felassan sent me.”

“Don’t discount your efforts,” Solas chided. “These are as good as any that I could find back in Arlathan. Even Abelas had one.” 

Her belly flipped. “He did?” 

“Yes,” Solas said. “And that alone is a great compliment. It is extremely rare that he eats baked goods.” 

“Yeah,” she said with a nervous little laugh. Damn, _damn_ , her cheeks were getting warm. Why did she have to blush in front of Solas? Why?

“Okay, um, see you later!” she said, and she turned on her heel and hurried back to her office before her dumb cheeks could get any hotter. 

She closed the door behind her, then took off her coat and hung up her purse, and then she plopped into her chair and ran her hands nervously through her hair. _Okay, he ate a cake,_ she thought. _And he definitely saw the cakes in his office._ But just because he’d seen the cakes and eaten them didn’t mean he felt the same way she did, even if he had given her a _felan’asahngar_ plant. 

Oh gods. Felassan was right, wasn’t he? She really was being totally dense. 

She blurted out a little laugh, then patted her warm cheeks. _Why_ did Abelas have to have a class at such an inconvenient time? 

She spent the next couple of hours keeping herself as busy as possible. She finished up the grant application from this morning for Solas to review, then started cleaning up the lab’s woefully outdated Endnote library, deleting replicated references and attaching PDFs of the relevant articles to each entry and adding new entries for the PDFs that didn’t have one yet. Thankfully, this task was the perfect level of repetitious-but-requiring-careful-attention that Athera actually managed to successfully distract herself with it. 

Until she heard the sound of Abelas entering his office through her own closed door. 

Once more, her heart wedged itself firmly in her throat. _Oh spirits,_ she thought wildly. He was back, he was back! She — should she go talk to him right now? No no, she should give him a second to hang up his coat first at least. Or maybe she should wait for him to come and talk to her when he was ready. Yes, that was probably better. He didn’t like being ambushed with questions the second he stepped back into the office — a fact Athera had learned from watching Dagna excitedly ambushing him more than once. 

She snorted a little laugh, then forced herself to exhale slowly. _This is fine,_ she reassured herself. _I’m calm. I’m a professional woman who is calm in the workplace._ She forced herself to focus on the Endnote library, but when five long minutes went by and Abelas didn’t knock on her door, she started to feel worried. 

What if he was avoiding her? What if he didn’t want to talk to her? No, she was being stupid. He wasn’t an immature teenage boy. He was probably just settling in. She would just give him another couple of minutes. 

When five more torturous minutes went by with still no knock on her door, Athera’s frayed wits couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up and took a deep breath, then marched out of her office and knocked on Abelas’s door. 

“Come in,” he called. 

She stepped into his office and closed the door behind her, then gave him an apologetic look. “Can we talk for a few minutes?”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Of course. I was waiting for you.”

She blinked. “You were?”

“Yes,” he said. “Did you not see the email I sent you?”

“You sent me an email?” she said blankly.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I sent it as soon as I arrived back in the office.”

She stared at him for a second. He’d sent her an email ten minutes ago? She’d been so nervy that she hadn’t even thought to check her email.

“What did it say?” she asked.

“It was a simple request to come to my office when you had a few minutes to talk.”

“Why didn’t you just come to my office if you wanted to talk?”

He frowned slightly. “Your door was closed. It is customarily open. I assumed you were in the midst of an important task.”

For another second, she just gaped wordlessly at him. He’d wanted to talk to her right away, but he was too polite to knock? 

Of course he was too polite to knock. That was how sweet he was. And meanwhile she was sitting there at her desk and wondering why he didn’t want to talk to her—

A little laugh escaped her lips. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle herself, but when Abelas’s expression started to melt into bemusement, she was seized once again by the imbecilic urge to laugh. 

She snorted inelegantly into her hand, then turned away so he couldn’t see how stupid she was being, but in her periphery, she could see him standing up from his desk. 

He hurried around the desk toward her. “Are you all right?” he said, and he ushered her toward the couch. “Sit down, please.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she giggled, but she sat on the couch anyway. When Abelas sat beside her, his nearness stunned away the remains of her ridiculous hysteria. 

He was sitting next to her on the couch with his big hard body angled toward her, and all of a sudden, Athera’s pulse was racing. Sitting next to each other on the couch, their knees a mere foot apart — such a familiar position to sit in! For Abelas especially, since he was so professional and formal all the time! And the look on his face, so serious but with his eyes looking buttery-soft and warm… 

_Oh gods,_ she thought frantically. She gave him an idiotic smile, then glanced idly at his desk, and her eyes fell on the container of petit-fours. 

Her belly did a little fish-leap of pleasure: there were only four petit-fours left in the container.

She turned back to face him. “You ate two petit-fours?”

He grimaced slightly. “I ate four, in fact.”

“Four!” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” he said ruefully. “Two were from the container in the kitchen, before I came into my office and realized you had set some aside for me.”

He looked faintly embarrassed, and it was such a sweet look on him that she was utterly charmed. She chuckled and shifted a little closer to him on the couch. “You liked them, then?” 

“I didn’t simply like them,” he said. “They were…” He paused and narrowed his eyes slightly as though in thought. “Their fragrance brought memories to life in my mind. While eating your _siugen’bradh_ , I was carried back home.” He looked her in the eye once more. “It was a priceless feeling. I have never tasted anything sweeter.”

Oh gods. Her stupid face was going hot, but she also felt like her heart might burst and like she might burst into tears at the same time…

_Be cool,_ she scolded herself. She tucked her hair behind her ear and let out an awkward little laugh. “So I guess, um… I guess I should make them more often, then?”

“I would prefer if you did not,” he said. “My fitness regime will be completely spoiled if you do.”

She laughed more genuinely, and his faint smile only made her feel more giddy. Then he shifted slightly closer to her. “What are your thoughts on the _felan’asahngar_?”

Their knees were only a few inches apart now — so close! Athera ignored her jangling nerves and beamed at him. “Oh, it’s — Abelas, it’s beautiful,” she enthused. “I didn’t know what to expect it would look like, I guess I thought it would look like a normal common orchid but it’s so much more interesting and rare-looking, I really — what does it mean?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

_Fuck,_ she thought anxiously. She hadn’t meant to be quite that blunt. Oh well, it was out there now, she might as well press on. “What does it — the _felan’asahngar._ What does it mean?”

He tilted his head slightly. “What does it mean in _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_?” he said.

A ripple of excitement zapped through her nerves like lightning. “I-I know what it means _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ ,” she stammered, “but I just — I don’t want to assume anything, I thought maybe—”

Abelas lifted his hand and reached slowly toward her face, and her breath stuttered to a stop. Stunned and frozen with anticipation, she waited while his fingers neared her temple. 

Very carefully, almost reverentially, Abelas skimmed the tips of his fingers along her hairline and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

He lowered his hand back to his lap. “I hope this makes my intentions clear,” he said softly. 

Athera stared gormlessly into his brilliant golden eyes. Her heart was hammering in her ears and her cheeks and her fingers and toes, and her whole body felt like it was thrumming, her blood practically electric with excitement and joy — a breathless and disbelieving sort of joy that almost felt like one of those out-of-body experiences, like she was definitely living in this moment but she was also so giddy that it was almost surreal. 

And Abelas was still staring at her. He was watching her with that particular brand of serious but tender attention that made her heart feel like melting butter, and she couldn’t look away. She was arrested by the look on his face — the serious cant of his brows and the softness of his lips and the tender, heart-stopping brilliance of his gaze…

Then he spoke again, in a very gentle voice. “Can I ascribe similar intentions to the _felan’asahngar_ you painted on those _siugen’bradh_?” 

She swallowed hard. Then, with that same sense of ringing joyful surreality, she shifted closer to him on the couch. 

Her shifting was infinitesimal — just an inch, a tiny bit closer, close enough for him to notice but not close enough that he couldn’t move away. 

His reaction was minute as well: just a hint of a curl to the corners of his lips, but for Athera, he might as well be grinning.

A giddy burst of joy pulsed through her blood. She shifted a little closer still, close enough that their knees were almost touching, and her eyes darted to his lips: soft and shapely lips, lips that were usually pursed in a frown, now soft and tilted up at the corners with contentment. 

Athera stared at his lips, then looked up to meet his eyes again — his eyes that were drawing closer to her, that were coming nearer… Oh spirits, oh gods, he was leaning in toward her, he was leaning closer, oh gods oh gods— 

She lifted her chin, and Abelas kissed her. 

Athera stopped breathing. Abelas was kissing her. He — he was kissing her! Abelas was kissing her, the most tender brush of a kiss, his lips slanting over hers with the most infinitely delicate pressure, and Athera sat there on his couch, dizzy and delighted and her head still ringing with the surreality of this moment.

And then his fingers rose to cradle her neck.

A thrill of warmth fanned through her entire body. Abelas’s fingers, his hand, his big strong hand that boasted those lovely masculine veins — his beautiful masculine hand cradling the side of her neck with such tender care… 

A tiny gasp left her lips, the merest hint of a hitch of breath, and Abelas caught it with his lips. He kissed her sweetly and cupped her neck in his palm, and Athera was melting, softening completely into his kiss until all she could think about was _him_ : him, Abelas, giving her a _felan’asahngar_ and touching her neck so gently and kissing her in this exquisitely careful way that made her feel like she could float…

A million years later, or maybe it was just a few seconds, he leaned away from her with the same slow and deliberate care that the kiss had begun. When Athera finally opened her eyes once more, it was to find Abelas studying her with that perfect beautiful tenderness that utterly scrambled her brain. 

She took a deep and tremulous breath. “Okay,” she said. “So that, um, clears things up.” 

He traced his thumb along the line of her jaw, spurring a tingling thrill to chase its way down her spine. Then he lowered his hand back to his lap. “I apologize if my gift was unclear. I had hoped… well.” He glanced away and ran his hand over his hair. “It was my hope that you would find it to be…”

He trailed off again, and Athera shifted closer to him. “To be what?” she asked. 

“To be romantic,” he said gruffly. “Perhaps I misjudged…”

Her heart squeezed with a nearly-unbearable tenderness. “No,” she blurted. On impulse, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it in both of hers. “No no, it was — Abelas, it was so romantic! It was so sweet, I — you — this was why you went to the mall on Saturday, wasn’t it? To get the _felan’asahngar_ for me?”

He nodded, and she squeezed his hand again. “You made up a bluff about the blazers on purpose so you could surprise me, didn’t you?”

He sighed and ran his palm over his hair once more. “I… perhaps the surprise was a foolish idea. I had wondered if it might seem frivolous—” 

“No,” she exclaimed. “It was perfect. It was—” She broke off with a giddy laugh. “It was a perfect romantic surprise. I loved it so much.” 

He looked her in the eye, and she earnestly returned his gaze. Then, gradually, his shoulders relaxed, and his face lifted into a smile. 

“It pleases me to hear that,” he said. “I hope you would not be opposed to similar gestures in the future.”

His eyes were warm and sunny, and his smile was like an open book: full of possibilities and anticipation and stories untold. In Abelas’s smile, she saw the start of _their_ story, a story of their own making that had yet to unfold — a story that Athera couldn’t wait to embark on with this stern, intelligent, sensitive, beautiful man.

She squeezed Abelas’s hand and beamed at him, wordless with the shared giddiness of their joy. In Abelas’s rare but beautiful smile, Athera had never seen anything so romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: more Athera/Abelas fluff! And then the Dread Dinner Party. 😂
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) at your service, and your wonderful artiste and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)


	34. Texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elbenherz surprised me with some DIVINE ABELAS ART for this week. kfgjflgkfj. My brain overfried from the HEAT and I haven't recovered. ENJOY. 😏💦💦💦🔥🔥🔥

_Athera Tues Oct 6 6:04 p.m.  
Hi, it’s Athera! _

_Abelas 6:10 p.m.  
Thank you. This is my personal number as well._

_Athera 6:10 p.m.  
I know, you gave it to me 😂_

_Abelas 6:10 p.m.  
That is true._

_Athera 6:14 p.m.  
What are you up to?_

_Abelas 6:18 p.m.  
I am making a stir-fry. _

_Athera 6:18 p.m.  
Ooh, what’s in your stir-fry?_

_Athera 6:23 p.m.  
Am I disturbing you while you’re trying to cook?_

_Abelas 6:26 p.m.  
You are not a disturbance. I am simply not accustomed to frequent texting._

_Athera 6:26 p.m.  
Really? You don’t text with Solas and Felassan?_

_Abelas 6:27 p.m.  
Rarely. If we have something important to discuss, we speak on the phone._

_Athera 6:27 p.m.  
Felassan talks to you on the phone?_

_Abelas 6:27 p.m.  
When the need arises. Why do you ask?_

_Athera 6:27 p.m.  
Just curious!_

_Abelas 6:28 p.m.  
Do you dislike speaking on the phone?_

_Athera 6:28 p.m.  
I don’t dislike it! I’m just not used to it! When someone calls me nowadays I assume it’s an emergency or something is wrong 😅_

_Abelas 6:28 p.m.  
That is not my feeling about speaking on the phone. _

_Athera 6:28 p.m.  
Would you rather talk on the phone than text?_

_Abelas 6:28 p.m.  
I do not want to impose if talking on the phone makes you uncomfortable._

_Athera 6:29 p.m.  
It doesn’t make me uncomfortable! It’s just not what I usually do _

_Abelas 6:29 p.m.  
I see._

_Athera 6:30 p.m.  
Are you eating right now?_

_Abelas 6:30 p.m.  
Yes._

_Athera 6:30 p.m.  
Oh no I’m sorry! Let’s talk after you finish your dinner!_

_Abelas 6:30 p.m.  
Are you certain you want to? I do not wish to impose._

_Athera 6:30 p.m.  
It’s not an imposition I promise! Call me when you’re finished 😊_

###  ATHERA 

Athera was washing the dishes and humming along to her music when her phone began to ring.

She hastily dried her hands and tapped the pick-up button on her earphones. “Hello?” she said breathlessly.

“Good evening, Athera,” Abelas said.

A little thrill ran down her spine. Having his voice so close to her ear felt so intimate, somehow. And so nice. 

“Hi, Abelas,” she said softly.

Nare poked her head out of her studio with an excited little smile, and Athera grinned bashfully and waved her off before turning back to the sink. “Did you finish your dinner?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “And yourself? Have you eaten already?”

“Yep,” she said brightly. She picked up a bowl and started washing it. “Nare and I just had a little veggie-and-pasta salad because I was feeling lazy.” 

“I see,” he said.

She smiled. “You don’t really do chit-chat on the phone either, do you?”

Abelas sighed softly into the phone. “Not usually, no. I primarily talk on the phone when there is something work-related that I need to discuss.”

“What about when you talk to your parents back home?” Athera asked.

“I mostly speak to my mother, and she does the majority of the talking.”

“Really? That’s funny,” she said. “I feel like it’s the opposite when I call home. Or it’s half-and-half, really. I talk on speaker with my parents, and me and my mom are just going on and on while my dad’s like ‘mhmm, yep, yep.’” She laughed, then felt a little silly for babbling so much.

Abelas hummed. “I can imagine that easily.”

She grinned. “And I can easily imagine you just sitting there nodding while your mom talks at you.”

He grunted, and Athera giggled and began scrubbing a cutting board. “Well, if you’re going to be dating me, you’ll have to get used to talking, because I like hearing you talk.”

“Pardon?” he said.

 _Damn,_ she thought. She could feel her face getting warm. Well, it was too late to take it back now. “I, um. You have a lot of interesting things to say,” she stammered. “I… it seems like you spend a lot of time listening, but not that much time talking.”

“I speak when I have something to say,” he said.

Athera paused in her dishwashing. “I think you have a lot to say, but you just keep it to yourself a lot of the time.”

“Perhaps,” he said. And he didn’t elaborate. 

Athera smiled. “Like right now,” she said in amusement. “What are you thinking about?”

There was another moment of quiet before he spoke again. “I was thinking that… it is often easier to keep my thoughts to myself.”

She paused again. “Easier?”

“Easier than attempting to make myself heard,” he said. 

She frowned slightly. That sounded a little sad. “What do you mean?”

“I have two younger siblings,” he said. “They are more outspoken than I.”

She blinked in surprise. “Two younger siblings? Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “And in the army, with my comrades being considerably more boisterous… I am accustomed to keeping my thoughts to myself.”

“Oh wow,” she said softly. Although now that he’d told her this, it explained a lot. 

She started briskly rinsing the dishes. “Well, you’re going to have to share your thoughts with me, because I like hearing them. And you’re going to have to get used to me texting you, too,” she added playfully.

He _harrumph_ ed. “I don’t understand this universal preference for texting among your generation.”

She blurted a laugh. Her generation! He made himself sound so old!

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Texting takes more time than talking on the phone,” he complained. “And it requires you to use both hands. It is far less efficient than talking.”

She forced herself not to laugh again. “Texting isn’t necessarily about efficiency, though,” she said. “It’s more like… you know how sometimes you have a funny thought and you want to tell someone but it’s not important enough to warrant a phone call? That’s what texting is great for.”

He huffed. “Those are usually the thoughts I keep to myself.”

“Those are the thoughts you should send to me by text!” she said brightly.

“Hm,” he murmured.

She grinned. He was clearly unconvinced. “Okay, here’s a different way to see it: it’s like passing notes.”

“Passing notes,” he said flatly.

She couldn’t help it: she giggled at his disbelieving tone. “Yes, passing notes,” she said. “Didn’t you ever pass notes with your friends in high school?”

“No,” he said. “But I saw others doing so.”

“Well, it’s like that,” she said. “They’re just silly stuff, silly thoughts, little observations or weird things that happened during the day. It’s fun, you’ll see.” Then she straightened as an idea occurred to her. 

“We can make it like a game!” she said brightly. 

“A game?” he said skeptically.

“Yes,” she said. “Starting today, you have to text me with two random thoughts per evening.”

“I need examples of the sort of random thoughts you mean.”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Hm… well, I’m in the kitchen right now, and right before you called, I was thinking how the dishwasher detergent I buy is the same one that my parents use back at the reserve. The smell makes me think of them. That’s actually why I buy it.”

He hummed an acknowledgement. “I see.”

“Your turn,” she said brightly. “What’s a random thought you had?”

He huffed. “I thought I was intended to text you these thoughts. Are you asking me to break a rule that you just instituted?”

Athera laughed. “Fine, fine, text me after we hang up.”

“Why am I the only one who must do this?” he asked.

“You won’t be!” she said. “I’ll be texting you too! I mean, if you want me to,” she added hastily. “Do you not want me to–”

“No,” he said. “I – I would be pleased if you texted me as well.”

She smiled giddily. It was still such a novel thrill to think he had the same kinds of feelings for her as she had for him. “Okay, I will,” she chirped.

“Good,” he said. “We shall see if this is as entertaining as you and the others in the lab make it out to be.”

“I promise it’ll be fun,” she said soothingly.

“I will be the judge of that by the end of the week,” he said dryly.

She giggled. “Such a skeptic. Okay, are we hanging up now?”

“I suppose we are,” he said.

“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “Talk to you soon.” She deposited a handful of cutlery in the dish drainer and waited for him to end the call.

Instead, he spoke again. “What are you doing at the moment? I hear clattering sounds.”

She grinned stupidly. Did he not want to hang up yet? “I’m washing the dishes,” she said. “What are you doing right now?”

“Speaking to you,” he said.

She giggled. “Okay, I deserved that. I mean what you would usually be doing right now instead of talking to me?”

There was a brief pause, and Athera tilted her head chidingly. “Abelas, would you usually be working now?”

“Perhaps,” he muttered.

“Well, that won’t do,” she said bossily. “It’s good that we’ll be texting when I’m done the dishes. That’s what you’ll do instead of working.”

“Will we be texting for hours?” he asked.

“Would you have been working for hours?” she said shrewdly.

Another silence ensued, and she could just imagine him pursuing his lips – his wonderful kissable lips. She smiled and propped the last dish in the dish drainer. “Okay, I’m finished the dishes now,” she said. “Let’s get to texting, and if you hate it, we can stop.”

He sighed. “All right.”

“Okay,” she said brightly, and she reached for the kettle. “Bye–”

“Athera,” he said suddenly.

“Yes?” 

He paused again for a moment before speaking. “I see your attempts to accommodate for me, and I appreciate them.”

She paused in the midst of filling the kettle. “What do you mean?”

“I can be… rigid,” he said slowly. “I am grateful to you for… for acknowledging it, and enjoying my company anyway.”

She softened. Why did it feel like he was always thanking her for just liking him for who he was? “Don’t be silly! There’s nothing to thank me for,” she insisted. “You’re — seriously, Abelas, there’s nothing to thank me for.”

“All the same, I am grateful,” he said gravely. “And I will text you shortly.”

“Okay,” she said. “I can’t wait!”

“Goodnight, Athera,” he said. There was a hint of amusement in his voice now, and Athera grinned in response before ending the call.

The happy strains of her music segued back in through her earphones, and she tapped her fingers happily on the counter as she waited for her tea to steep. By the time she was taking her cup of sugary tea back to her bedroom, her phone still hadn’t dinged with a text.

 _He’s probably thinking way too much about what to text me,_ she thought fondly. That was fine; she wasn’t in a rush. She curled up on her bed, then pulled her throw blanket over her legs and started her next episode of Crash Landing On You.

Before she could finish the first ten minutes of the episode, her phone dinged.

_***********************************_

_Abelas 7:43 p.m.  
I cannot conjure any random thoughts. _

_Athera 7:43 p.m.  
😂 that is a random thought! Funny how that happens, right? _

_Abelas 7:43 p.m.  
How what happens?_

_Athera 7:43 p.m.  
As soon as someone asks you to think of something random to say, your mind just goes blank!_

_Abelas 7:43 p.m.  
I did not realize that conjuring random thoughts was something you did so often._

_Athera 7:43 p.m.  
Hahaha I’m always thinking random thoughts!_

_Abelas 7:44 p.m.  
Such as?_

_Athera 7:44 p.m.  
… Well now I have none 😂 it just goes to show!_

_Athera 7:44 p.m.  
Ok here’s one, how do you think people first realized that they could knit so many different patterns? Or how people figured out how to knit in the first place?_

_Athera 7:44 p.m.  
Who was the first person who picked up some yarn and some sticks and was like, yes, I’ll just make a sweater out of these?_

_Abelas 7:44 p.m.  
I have no answers to these questions._

_Athera 7:44 p.m.  
Me neither, it’s just a funny thought!_

_Abelas 7:46 p.m.  
One might wonder similar things about the origins of silk. I am curious about the first person who looked at a mulberry caterpillar’s cocoon and decided that it would make a good fiber for clothing production._

_Athera 7:46 p.m.  
I know right?? That’s a weird one too!_

_Athera 7:46 p.m.  
Wait how did you know what kind of caterpillars make the fibres for silk? I didn’t even know it’s made of cocoons!_

_Abelas 7:46 p.m.  
The topic arose in a documentary I watched._

_Athera 7:46 p.m.  
You watch documentaries?_

_Abelas 7:46 p.m.  
Sometimes._

_Athera 7:46 p.m.  
I thought you didn’t watch TV!_

_Abelas 7:46 p.m.  
I watch documentaries while I am working out._

_Athera 7:47 p.m.  
Really??_

_Abelas 7:47 p.m.  
Yes._

_Athera 7:47 p.m.  
I didn’t know that!_

_Abelas 7:47 p.m.  
I am aware that it is unusual._

_Athera 7:47 p.m.  
That’s interesting though! And efficient ☝_

_Athera 7:47 p.m.  
You’re strengthening your brain and your body at the same time! 💪_

_Abelas 7:47 p.m.  
You cannot literally strengthen your brain, but I appreciate your sentiment._

_Athera 7:47 p.m.  
I knew you were going to say that 😂😘_

_Abelas 7:48 p.m.  
You use many emoji in your texting._

_Athera 7:48 p.m.  
Ugh I know, is it really annoying? I can cut back if you don’t like it!_

_Abelas 7:48 p.m.  
There is no need to cut back. I am just unaccustomed to it. Though Felassan uses them at times as well._

_Athera 7:48 p.m.  
I don’t have to use them if you don’t like them!_

_Abelas 7:48 p.m.  
Please do not change your habits on my account. I have no problem with them. But I do not use them myself._

_Athera 7:48 p.m.  
How come? Too inefficient? 😉_

_Abelas 7:48 p.m.  
It is the opposite, in fact. I prefer the eloquence of words, although I recognize that it takes longer for me to type them out._

_Athera 7:48 p.m.  
Ah ofc! You are a writer and a poet after all 😂_

_Athera 7:48 p.m.  
How are you feeling about the texting so far, actually? Are you annoyed yet?_

_Abelas 7:49 p.m.  
Surprisingly, no._

_Athera 7:49 p.m.  
See? It’s fun, right?_

_Abelas 7:49 p.m.  
It is fun with you._

_Abelas 7:49 p.m.  
What is ‘ofc’?_

_Athera 7:49 p.m.  
OH sorrysorry, ofc means ‘of course’! Sorry I’ll try not to use acronyms_

_Abelas 7:49 p.m.  
Your use of acronyms indicates that you recognize the inefficiency of texting as a means of timely communication. _

_Athera 7:49 p.m.  
😂😂😂 Abelas!!_

_Abelas 7:49 p.m.  
I did not intend to be funny. _

_Athera 7:49 p.m.  
I wish I could tell if you were smiling right now or not because I’m literally laughing out loud 😂_

_Abelas 7:49 p.m.  
It is possible that I am smiling._

_Athera 7:49 p.m.  
😂😍❤_

_Athera 7:50 p.m.  
Seriously though you can write texts that are as long or short as you want! I honestly don’t care how efficient the texts are! _

_Athera 7:50 p.m.  
I’m just really happy that we’re texting at all ❤_

_Abelas 7:50 p.m.  
As am I. This is unexpectedly enjoyable. _

_Abelas 7:50 p.m.  
I fear that I am running out of random thoughts to share, however._

_Athera 7:50 p.m.  
That’s ok! You can text me again whenever if you think of anything else funny to share!_

_Abelas 7:50 p.m.  
Must it be funny?_

_Athera 7:50 p.m.  
Of course not, it can be whatever you think of! _

_Abelas 7:50 p.m.  
All right. If I do not text you again tonight, then I wish you a restful night and an equally restful awakening in the morning. _

_Athera 7:50 p.m.  
That’s so sweet!! ❤ Same back to you!_

_Abelas 7:50 p.m.  
Thank you. On nydha, Athera._

_Athera 7:51 p.m.  
On nydha! ❤_

_*******************************_

_Athera Wed Oct 7 5:23 p.m.  
I have a random question for you! Have you ever tried to write any poetry in the common tongue?_

_Abelas 5:23 p.m.  
No. What is more, I do not believe I would be any good at it._

_Athera 5:23 p.m.  
How come?_

_Abelas 5:25 p.m.  
The cadence of Elvhen and the common tongue are completely different. Our language is more fluid, more lyrical. The use of figurative language is very different. The common tongue is literal and blunt. Elvhen is far more metaphorical by nature._

_Athera 5:25 p.m.  
That totally makes sense. I feel kind of silly now that I asked 😅_

_Abelas 5:25 p.m.  
It is a fair question. But no, the conventions of poetic prose are very different in the common tongue. Why do you ask?_

_Athera 5:26 p.m.  
I was just thinking about what you said today about how you and Solas and Felassan don’t really text with each other in Elvhen, and I started thinking about you guys talking and writing in common instead of Elvhen and it just spiralled from there I guess!_

_Abelas 5:26 p.m.  
I see. _

_Athera 5:26 p.m.  
I started to read your poetry collection by the way! But I think I’m still too crappy at Elvhen to appreciate it 😭_

_Abelas 5:26 p.m.  
Your Elvhen proficiency is increasing significantly with every passing week. Do not discount your prowess._

_Athera 5:26 p.m.  
Ma serannas, hah’ren!_

_Abelas 5:27 p.m.  
Da’banal, da’len. _

_Athera 5:27 p.m.  
😊❤_

_Abelas 5:27 p.m.  
I could attempt to translate some of my poems into the common tongue. But I fear their nuance or rhythm would be lost in translation._

_Athera 5:27 p.m.  
Oh no no you don’t have to do that! I’d like to be able to read them in Elvhen the way they were intended!_

_Abelas 5:29 p.m.  
To be perfectly truthful, Solas has suggested before that I translate my work to make it accessible to a broader audience. I have not been particularly receptive to the suggestion, but perhaps translating some of the poems for you could be a trial run, so to speak._

_Athera 5:29 p.m.  
A trial run?_

_Abelas 5:29 p.m.  
You could read the translations and let me know if they sound ‘poetic’ to your ear, even when translated to a less musical tongue._

_Athera 5:29 p.m.  
😂 Is that your way of saying you think that common is an ugly-sounding language?_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
I did not say that._

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
You didn’t deny it either! 😂_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
In any case, I would appreciate your input on the translations, if you are willing to read them._

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
I would love to! Absolutely!_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
Good. Thank you._

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
Anytime! (Also I see what you did there with not commenting on the common tongue but I’m letting it go…)_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
I appreciate your ‘discretion’._

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
😂❤_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
I will start translating poems tonight and send them to you by email, if that is acceptable._

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
You can send them to me by text!_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
Are you certain?_

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
Yes ofc! This is for fun not for work exactly so you can send them by text!_

_Abelas 5:30 p.m.  
All right. I will do that. Thank you again._

_Athera 5:30 p.m.  
Seriously anytime! I can’t wait!_

_************************************_

_Abelas 10:17 p.m.  
This is one of the shorter poems in the collection I lent you:_

_The dust of many crumbled cities  
settles over us like a forgetful doze,  
but we are older than those cities.  
We began  
as a mineral. We emerged into plant life  
and into animal state, and then into being Elvhen,  
and always we have forgotten our former states,  
except in early spring when we slightly recall  
being green again.  
_

_  
Athera 10:20 p.m.  
I sat here for literal minutes just staring at that poem oh my gods_

_Athera 10:20 p.m.  
Abelas it’s SO beautiful_

_Abelas 10:20 p.m.  
I am relieved to hear that. I cannot fairly judge the rhythm of it._

_Athera 10:20 p.m.  
Trust me it’s mind-blowingly good WOW _

_Abelas 10:20 p.m.  
Your praise is unexpected but very appreciated. Ma serannas._

_Athera 10:20 p.m.  
No thank YOU for sharing!! I want to read more!!_

_Abelas 10:21 p.m.  
I would gladly share more with you. But this took longer than expected. I will need some time before I can translate another._

_Athera 10:21 p.m.  
Ofc ofc take your time!_

_Athera 10:21 p.m.  
Sorry I keep using acronyms 🙈_

_Abelas 10:22 p.m.  
I do not mind your attempts at efficiency. I may simply ask for the meaning of these acronyms as they arise._

_Athera 10:22 p.m.  
I see that dig! You are so cheeky sometimes!_

_Abelas 10:22 p.m.  
It amuses me that you think so._

_Athera 10:22 p.m.  
That’s only fair with how much you amuse me 😂❤_

_Abelas 10:22 p.m.  
Indeed. For now, I will prepare for sleep. _

_Athera 10:22 p.m.  
Hang on a sec, you didn’t share any random thoughts!_

_Abelas 10:22 p.m.  
My apologies. I need some time to think of some. _

_Athera 10:22 p.m.  
Ok! Take your time!_

_Abelas 10:28 p.m.  
1) I am thinking about getting a fish tank. I likely will not; it is an idea that I consider and discard at least once a month.  
2) I am running out of coffee. I will have to buy some tomorrow. _

_Athera 10:28 p.m.  
A fish tank? Really?? What sort of fish are you thinking about?_

_Abelas 10:28 p.m.  
I am sorry, Athera, but I must sleep. I will be most ornery in the morning if I do not._

_Athera 10:29 p.m.  
That’s ok!! I’ll just bug you about this tomorrow at lunchtime!_

_Abelas 10:29 p.m.  
I look forward to it. Goodnight, Athera. May you sleep deeply and wake refreshed._

_Athera 10:29 p.m.  
You too! 😘_

_**************************************_

_Athera Thurs Oct 8 5:47 p.m.  
Ok I have a funny idea_

_Athera 5:47 p.m.  
You said you prefer to express yourself in words rather than emoji even though it takes longer, right? _

_Abelas 5:47 p.m.  
That is correct._

_Athera 5:47 p.m.  
What if I sent you an emoji and you had to tell me how you would express it in words?_

_Abelas 5:47 p.m.  
What is the purpose of this?_

_Athera 5:47 p.m.  
It’ll be fun! Or funny, more accurately 😂_

_Abelas 5:48 p.m.  
Are you seeking entertainment?_

_Athera 5:48 p.m.  
Maybe… 😊_

_Abelas 5:50 p.m.  
Fine. Let’s begin. But you must forgive my slow responses; I am working._

_Athera 5:50 p.m.  
Abelas! 😤_

_Abelas 5:50 p.m.  
It is necessary. But I will indulge this game at the same time. _

_Athera 5:50 p.m.  
Ok, I’ll let you off the hook about WFH since you’re indulging me 😂_

_Athera 5:50 p.m.  
First emoji: 😘_

_Abelas 6:10 p.m.  
What is ‘WFH’?_

_Athera 6:10 p.m.  
Working from home! Sorry!_

_Abelas 6:10 p.m.  
That emoji means the following: I am purposely taunting you, but with great affection._

_Athera 6:10 p.m.  
😂😂❤ That’s 100% accurate omg. Okay next! This one: 😅_

_Abelas 6:31 p.m.  
That emoji is used when one feels embarrassed or awkward, but is attempting to hide their embarrassment or awkwardness in order to save face._

_Athera 6:31 p.m.  
Holy spirits, that’s amazing_

_Abelas 6:31 p.m.  
How so?_

_Athera 6:31 p.m.  
You actually turned that emoji into words? I’ve never been able to totally explain how I use that emoji even though I know how to use it_

_Abelas 6:33 p.m.  
There is an Elvhen word for this emotion: dialasal’in’iseth. It translates literally as ‘to cover your blushing’, but it encapsulates the feeling of attempting to hide one’s awkwardness in order to save face._

_Athera 6:33 p.m.  
Wow!! And here I thought I was challenging you! You’re schooling me!!_

_Abelas 6:33 p.m.  
Schooling you?_

_Athera 6:33 p.m.  
You’re showing me up! Beating me at my own game!_

_Abelas 6:33 p.m.  
I see. Thank you._

_Athera 6:33 p.m.  
Haha ok I see how it is! Here’s your next emoji: 💁♀️_

_Abelas 6:53 p.m.  
I have absolutely no notion as to how that emoji is used._

_Athera 6:53 p.m.  
😂😂 It’s for when you’re being sassy. I’ve never seen a guy use it though tbh_

_Athera 6:53 p.m.  
(tbh means ‘to be honest’!)_

_Abelas 6:53 p.m.  
Hm. It appears that you are now schooling me._

_Athera 6:53 p.m.  
Careful, if you start using slang then you’ll be using emoji next!_

_Abelas 6:53 p.m.  
That will not happen. _

_Athera 6:53 p.m.  
😉_

_Abelas 6:53 p.m.  
That is easy. That emoji is used when one is being mischievous._

_Athera 6:53 p.m.  
LOL no no I was using it, not asking you to define it! But yes you’re right!_

_Abelas 7:14 p.m.  
Ah. My mistake. I apologize, Athera, but I must exercise now. If you send me further emoji, I will verbalize them for you as I am able. _

_Athera 7:14 p.m.  
Ok will do! 😘_

_**************************************_

_Abelas Fri Oct 9 9:20 p.m.  
If you are able to spare a few minutes, I would like to talk._

_Athera 9:20 p.m.  
Sure, just give me a few mins and I’ll call you! Is everything ok?_

_Abelas 9:20 p.m.  
Yes, everything is fine. It is not urgent. I apologize for alarming you._

_Athera 9:20 p.m.  
No worries, give me a second and I'll give you a call!_

###  ABELAS 

Abelas picked up his phone the moment it rang. “Hello, Athera.”

“Hi!” she said brightly. “How are you? How’s your evening?”

“It’s fine, thank you,” he said. “I apologize for disturbing your evening with your friends.”

“It’s okay!” she said. “I do have to run back quickly though, we’re in the middle of a movie. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if I might drive you to the gathering at Solas’s home tomorrow,” he said.

“You want to give me a ride? Really?” she said brightly.

“Yes, if that interests you,” he said. “From your description of where you live, I believe I am only about a ten-minute drive away.”

“Aw, that would — I would love that!” she chirped. “But I already planned to share an Uber with the girls and Felassan.”

He wilted slightly. “Ah,” he said. Truthfully, he was disappointed. He had been hoping to spend some time with Athera away from their colleagues. Athera had spent her lunch hour with him three days this week, and she had been flirting with him at tiny moments through the day — tiny moments that made his heart pound. But these brief little moments with Athera were not enough. Abelas was quite thoroughly infatuated with her, and he could not deny that he was eager for more.

“I know,” she said wryly. “I’m really sorry. It would be nice to have some time just the two of us, right?”

He nodded, comforted that she felt the same as he. “That is what I was thinking as well.”

She hummed softly in acknowledgement. “I mean, I love that everyone in the lab ships us together, but… I dunno. Lunch dates are still kind of tied to work, you know?”

“I agree about the lunch dates,” he said. “But I don’t know what you mean by saying they ship us.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, it means that they support our relationship. They think we’re cute together.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Ah. That would explain the surplus of smiles I have been receiving as of late.”

Athera laughed more heartily. “Yeah, that would do it. Ah, I’m kind of embarrassed that I said that now.”

He frowned slightly. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said, and she let out another giggle. “Sometimes I feel like a silly kid around you.”

“Be assured that that is not how you appear to me,” he said firmly.

“Okay. Good,” she said. Her tone was warm and vibrant with amusement, and he could only too easily imagine the charming rosy flush of her cheeks. 

The thought of her blushing brought a certain warmth to life in the depths of his belly. There was a brief pause in their conversation — a pause that felt both tense and hopeful, somehow. 

Abelas shifted a little awkwardly on the couch, then spoke again into the silence. “I would be happy to drive all of you to Solas’s apartment for the gathering, if you are agreeable.”

“Wha— really?” she exclaimed. “No, you don’t have to do that!”

“I would like to,” he said. “If it means you and I can spend more time together, then I am happy to do it.”

“I — are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said. “It will be worth it.”

He could clearly hear the smile in her voice when she replied. “Okay. I — thank you, Abelas, this is so sweet of you. I’ll text you our address?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“No, thank _you_!” she chirped. “Seriously, this is great. Aw, the party is going to be so fun. Even more fun since we’re going together! And Tamaris is going to meet everyone, it’ll be so nice!”

“It will be nice, yes,” he said carefully. In private, however, he was still feeling wistful for the idea of spending some time alone with her.

Her next words addressed his wishes to an uncanny degree. “Why don’t we go for brunch on Sunday, just you and me?”

He raised his eyebrows, pleased by the suggestion. “Brunch?”

“Yes,” she said. “There’s a great Orlesian place that’s like a ten-minute walk from me — the food’s really good and not expensive, the best of both worlds. Or if there’s somewhere closer to you, I can take an Uber or walk if the weather is nice!”

“I will come to your area,” he said. “There is no need for you to Uber.”

“Okay,” she said happily. “Sunday brunch then.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” she said softly.

He smiled helplessly into the phone, feeling unusually giddy. Then Athera giggled. “Okay, I have to get back to the girls. But we’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll text you.”

“All right,” he said. “ _On nydha,_ Athera.”

“ _On nydha_!” she chirped, and she ended the call. 

Abelas set his phone on the coffee table and sat back for a moment to enjoy his warm feeling of anticipation. He would have to share Athera’s company with their colleagues again tomorrow, but at least he had Sunday to look forward to.

Sunday brunch with Athera: their first real date. He smiled to himself, then rose from the couch to go set up his coffee maker for tomorrow. 

Never before had he felt so excited for a first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some important credits:  
> \- The Elvhen word _da'banal_ ('you're welcome/no problem') is borrowed from the lovely and wonderful CrackingLamb!  
> \- Abelas's poem in this chapter is NOT WRITTEN BY ME. It is called ['The Dream That Must Be Interpreted' by Jalaluddin Rumi.](url) I was too lazy to write a poem myself. Maybe next time! 😅
> 
> This will be the only chapter this week, I'm afraid! Blame Geralt and his sexy scarred chest. 😂🙈 I'll get to work on the Dread Dinner Party on the weekend, I promise! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and our WONDERFUL eye candy provider and artiste is the inimitable [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	35. Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the first of the Dread Dinner Party chapters! Fair warning that the events of this evening will cover like... idk, 7 chapters or something. I DUNNO WHAT I'M DOING WITH MY LIFE OK, I'M SORRY/THANK YOU ALL FOR INDULGING ME. To that end, there will be at least two chapters this week? Maybe three?
> 
> I generally hate describing clothes in fics unless it's important, so here is what the girls’ outfits look like, in case anyone wants to know: Athera's [hair](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/829436456365211880/) and [dress,](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/697219319255400469/801479195166638150/7f0e4fd5e2475990ebf103a794a7fe5e.png) Nare's [hair,](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/697219319255400469/800048601078300672/unknown.png) and Tamaris's [dress.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/697219319255400469/801483108976427008/1109f945a290544d34eb311c074eb550.png) Nare's dress was described in detail during the mall incident, and Tamaris's hair looks like it always does -- [gorgeous curls like Sandra Oh's.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/697219319255400469/801484126510514238/d7a1a8838ea0a7066825c62a3a87c62b.png)

###  NARE 

Athera knocked on the bathroom door. “Nare! Abelas will be here in five minutes!”

“Okay,” Nare said. She finished brushing on her mascara, then set the mascara aside and studied her face for a moment.

She looked nice. As nice as she would look for any party with friends from work. It didn’t look like she had put any special thought into her makeup, even if she’d been especially careful to use her favourite shade of lipstick that highlighted her lips. And it’s not like anyone else would think anything of the fact that she was wearing her new dress from the Black Emporium — the deep forest-green backless dress that Solas had helped her to choose. 

The dress he’d commanded her to take off in the changing room before pressing her against the mirror and sliding his fingers between her legs…

A rush of heat pulsed through her chest, followed closely by a rush of anxiety. She took a deep breath and glared at herself. _Stop it,_ she thought. _No one knows how you picked this dress, and no one knows you and Solas are fucking. Just calm down._

She breathed slowly while adjusting her hair, tweaking the loose strands around her neck and pushing a pin back into her loose bun before finally stepping out of the bathroom. She went to her bedroom and grabbed her clutch, then made her way down the hall to the main room. 

Athera, Tamaris, and Felassan were loitering in the kitchen. Tamaris and Felassan were each having a beer, and Athera was humming along to the music playing through her kitchen speaker while she arranged food containers on the counter. 

She smiled at Nare as she joined them in the kitchen. “Nare, you look so pretty! I really love that dress.”

“Yes, the colour sets your hair off nicely,” Felassan said.

Tamaris elbowed him. “Stop taking credit for Nare’s good taste.”

“Don’t be jealous, _avise_ ,” Felassan said soothingly. “I like your dress too.” He smoothed his palm over Tamaris’s belted waist, then tweaked the skirt of her short black dress. 

Tamaris _tsk_ ed and smacked his hand. “Uh-huh.”

 _He’d like it even better off, I bet,_ Nare thought cheekily, but she kept the thought to herself. That kind of lewdness was for the girls’ ears only. 

Felassan was grinning at Tamaris, and she was grinning too as she picked at the label on her bottle of beer. Nare caught Athera’s eye, and they exchanged a fond little smile. 

Nare set her clutch on the couch and joined Athera at the kitchen counter. “You look pretty too! I love your hair.” She gently patted Athera’s elegant bun. 

Athera beamed at her and held out the skirt of her lavender shirtdress in a playful curtsy. Nare chuckled, then tilted her head at Felassan and Tamaris’s drinks. “You’re not having a drink too?” she asked Athera. 

Athera laughed. “No way. I’d rather not make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”

Felassan tilted his head. “Do you not hold your liquor well?”

“No, I’m a terrible lightweight,” Athera said cheerfully. “I get drunk on a single good glass of wine.” She widened her eyes at Nare. “You should go ahead and join Tam and Felassan, though! There’s cider in the fridge still from the last time we had a drinks night.”

Nare waved her off. “It’s okay, I’ll hold off until we get to Solas’s place,” she said. In truth, Nare wasn’t sure she should drink at all tonight. It would probably be best to keep her wits about her. Then again, it might look suspicious if she didn’t have anything at all to drink tonight, especially since Tamaris and Athera knew she usually had a glass of wine or two at a work party. But if the wine brought her inhibitions down… 

Damn it, she was getting nervous again. She took a deep breath and smiled at Athera. “Can I help you with anything?” she asked. “Is everything ready to go?”

“Yep!” Athera chirped. She pointed to each of the containers that were tidily lined up on the counter. “Felassan’s shepherd’s pie, your miso shiitake ramen, ingredients for two salads, vegetable red curry, a fresh batch of petit-fours.” She raised her eyebrows at Nare and Tamaris. “That’s everything, right? I’m not missing anything?”

“Don’t forget my contribution,” Tamaris said. She pointed at the three bottles of wine by the door, which sat next to the bottles of fresh-pressed juice that Felassan had also brought.

Felassan raised his eyebrows at Athera. “You know everyone else is bringing food too, don’t you?”

“I know, I know,” Athera said breathlessly. “I might have gotten a little overexcited. I’m just — aw, it’s going to be so fun, and food is so important at a party, don’t you think?”

“It sure is,” Tamaris said. “I’m glad someone brought something with meat in it.” She tugged Felassan’s collar and smirked at Nare. 

Nare playfully stuck her tongue out, and Felassan bowed his head politely to Tamaris. “It’s my pleasure to fulfill your carnivorous desires,” he said. 

Tamaris smiled more widely, then finished off her beer. “I’m going to go grab my purse,” she said. She set her bottle on the counter and headed down the hall to her bedroom.

Felassan shot Nare a mischievous smile, and Nare covered her mouth to hide her smile. Then Athera turned to Felassan with wide eyes. “I thought you said the shepherd’s pie was vegan—”

“Shh,” Nare hissed. 

Athera blinked. “Huh?”

Felassan chuckled and lowered his voice. “The shepherd’s pie _is_ vegan. She doesn’t know.” 

Athera’s eyes widened. “She — why aren’t you telling her?” she whispered. 

“She always says meat substitutes aren’t as good as real meat,” Nare whispered back. “If she doesn’t notice the difference, I can tease her about this forever.”

Felassan snickered, and Athera looked quizzically at him. “But why are _you_ trying to trick her?”

“Because I love riling her up,” he replied with a grin. “Besides, it’s a fun challenge. I had to try two different meat substitutes before I found one that was good enough.”

Nare clicked her tongue. “You meat-eaters are so picky.”

Felassan made a mock-sad face. “That’s a funny way of saying ‘thank you for helping me with my excellent prank’.”

Nare chuckled. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Felassan, for helping me with this prank.”

He bowed his head mockingly. Athera giggled, then straightened up. “Tam! Hi!”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow as she rejoined them with her purse in hand. “Hi,” she said slowly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Athera chirped. “I’m going to put my boots on! Oh—” She fumbled in the pocket of her shirtdress, then pulled out her phone. She checked the screen, then swiped the screen and lifted it to her ear. “Abelas! Hi! Yeah, we’ll be right down!”

Her cheeks were pinkening already. Tamaris and Nare exchanged a little smile, and Athera tucked her phone back in her pocket. “Okay, he’s here, let’s go!”

Felassan chuckled as they started getting ready to leave. “I’m still mildly envious that he offered to drive you to Solas’s so easily. He never offers to drive _me_ when we’re going to Solas’s place.”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow as she put on her boots. “Seriously? He makes you find your own way there even though he lives so close to you?”

“Oh no,” Felassan said casually. “He drives me over.”

Nare blinked in confusion. “Wait. But I thought you said…?”

“He doesn’t _offer_ to drive me,” Felassan said. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t do it. I just show up at his place, and he has no choice but to give me a ride.”

The girls all broke out laughing, and Tamaris pushed his arm. “You are such a fucking brat.”

“Thank you, Tamaris,” he said graciously. “I try my very hardest.”

They laughed and chattered as they pulled on shoes and coats and distributed the containers and bottles amongst themselves. A couple of minutes later, they trooped downstairs to find Abelas standing outside of his car with his arms crossed.

He looked as stern as ever, to Nare’s eye. But as soon as his eyes landed on Athera, his expression lifted into a small smile. 

He unfolded his arms and nodded to them. “Good evening. The trunk is open.” He made a beeline for Athera and took the containers from her arms. “Allow me.”

“Oh — oh, you don’t have to — okay,” she said with a little laugh.

Felassan opened the trunk so they could load everything in, and Nare watched surreptitiously as Abelas led Athera to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Athera beamed at him as she slid into the front passenger seat, and Nare smiled to herself as she got into the back seat. 

A minute later, they were all settled into the car on their way to Solas’s, with Tamaris tucked into the middle seat between Nare and Felassan. Felassan reached over the driver’s seat and clapped Abelas heartily on the shoulder. “So who are you betting on to win the tournament this year?” 

“I have never placed a bet in your and Tamlen’s so-called tournament,” Abelas said. “You know this.”

Felassan sighed musically. “I live in constant hope that you’ll change your mind someday.”

“Pray for a long life, then, as it will never happen,” Abelas retorted.

Felassan and Athera laughed, and Tamaris shot Felassan a quizzical look. “Tournament for what?”

“A gwent tournament,” he said.

Tamaris snorted, and Nare raised her eyebrows. “What’s gwent?”

“Yeah, what’s gwent?” Athera chimed in.

Abelas replied. “It is a frivolous game—”

Felassan cut him off. “It’s a fantastic strategy game using competing card decks. Tamlen owns a full set, and he always brings it to these gatherings.” He glanced from Athera to Nare. “You two aren’t familiar with it?”

“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Nare said. To Tamaris she said, “How do you know it?”

“It’s from a video game that Felassan got me into,” Tamaris explained.

“Hence the frivolity,” Abelas remarked.

Felassan tutted. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Athera looked at him. “ _Do_ you like it?”

Abelas huffed. “It rouses a great deal of competitive energy.”

“By which he means he gets really competitive when he’s playing it,” Felassan put in.

Abelas shot a scowl over his shoulder at Felassan. “Do not make me out to sound like a juvenile boor. I get as competitive as the game warrants.”

He sounded defensive, and Nare forced herself not to laugh as Felassan replied. “You don’t like losing.”

“I only lose to you because you rely too heavily on special cards,” Abelas retorted. “Spies, healer cards that let you resurrect a used card, those character cards that are unaffected by the weather effects…”

“You only lose to me because you rely too heavily on your basic unit cards,” Felassan said lazily. “Gwent rewards the bold and creative.”

“Gwent is a game of chance,” Abelas snapped.

“Gwent is a game of intellect and you know it,” Felassan drawled. 

Nare cleared her throat loudly. “I think someone needs to tell me and Athera how gwent even works.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling left out!” Athera said.

Abelas ran a hand over his braid. “I apologize, Nare, Athera,” he said stiffly. “It was not _my_ intent to exclude either of you from the conversation.”

“Yeah, Felassan,” Tamaris said, and she elbowed him. “Stop excluding Nare and Athera.”

Felassan snickered. “Just for that, I think _you_ should explain to them how gwent works.”

Tamaris recoiled slightly. “What? No.”

“Why not?” Felassan asked.

“Because I fucking suck at gwent,” she said bluntly. “Abelas is right, it’s a total game of chance.”

“Thank you, Tamaris,” Abelas said.

Felassan gave her an offended look. “Ouch. How terribly disloyal of you.”

Tamaris patted his thigh. “I’m just telling the truth.”

Up front, Athera gave Abelas a hopeful look. “Will you teach me how to play?”

“Of course, if that is your wish,” Abelas said. “But I warn you that I am hardly the best person to learn from.”

“You’re the one I want to learn from,” she said firmly.

Abelas huffed. “You are overly kind,” he said in a softer tone. “But yes, I will teach you if that is what you prefer.”

Athera smiled and squeezed his forearm. Felassan glanced over at Nare. “I’ll teach you, if you want,” he said kindly. 

“Sure, thanks,” Nare said. She licked her lips, then took a bold risk. “Does Solas like playing gwent?”

“He doesn’t mind it,” Felassan said.

Abelas piped in. “He is excellent at it.”

Nare blinked in surprise. “Wait, really?” She had a hard time imagining Solas being into a card game based on a video game.

“Yes,” Abelas said. “He almost invariably beats Felassan.”

Felassan barked out a laugh. “You know, I would be offended by the pride in your tone if you weren’t completely correct.”

Abelas huffed in amusement, and Tamaris turned to look at Felassan. “Solas beats you at gwent?”

“He does indeed,” Felassan said. “Why? Are you less impressed with me now?”

“Kind of, yeah,” she said. “I thought you were a gwent master. Maybe I should ask Solas to give me tips rather than you.”

Felassan dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me deeply, _avise._ ”

Tamaris chuckled and flicked his knee, and he took her hand and twined his fingers with hers. Then Athera turned around partway in her seat to look at Nare. “Maybe Solas can teach you to play gwent, then!”

Solas teaching her — teaching her to paint, to be disciplined, to be polite and say ‘yes, professor’ when she wanted to be touched… 

Her heart twisted with nerves. “That’s a good idea,” she said casually. “I’ll ask him when we get there.”

Athera beamed at her, then turned around to face the front again. She smiled at Abelas, and Nare watched fondly as Abelas and Athera smiled at each other, then immediately looked away as though they were bashful.

 _Too damned cute,_ Nare thought, with just a hint of wistfulness. She glanced at Tamaris, but Tamaris was murmuring something in Felassan’s ear.

A little pang squeezed Nare’s heart. Athera and Tamaris looked so happy with Abelas and Felassan. They were all so cute, and Nare was so happy to see the girls being all cuddly and infatuated with their boyfriends. 

She thought of Solas’s smile — that special, velvet-soft, tender smile he gave her when they were twined together in his sex-scented sheets. The smile he’d be purposely preventing himself from showing to her tonight. 

The pang in her chest swelled, almost like a faint ache behind her sternum. She swallowed hard and looked out the window. Then Felassan spoke again. “Nare or Athera, do either of you know what Merrill said she was going to bring to this party?”

Athera replied. “She said she was bringing a cake. Something with dragonthorn in the recipe, which will be interesting!”

Abelas grunted, and Felassan groaned. “Oh _fenedhis_. We’re in for it.”

Nare raised her eyebrows. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Merrill has… interesting taste in baked goods,” Felassan said delicately.

“She is a fairly atrocious cook,” Abelas said.

Nare laughed, distracted from her melancholy by his bluntness. Beside him, Athera _tsk_ ed. “Abelas! That’s so mean!”

“I would never say so directly to Merrill herself,” Abelas said defensively. 

“That’s probably why she keeps making cakes for the lab,” Felassan said. “If you tell her the truth, she would stop.”

“Do you wish for me to make her cry again?” Abelas said archly. “Because I certainly do not.”

Nare and Felassan laughed, and Athera tutted about them all being unkind while Tamaris smirked. They all continued to chatter on their way to Solas’s apartment, and Nare was entertained enough that she managed to forget her melancholy and her nerves — for the most part, at least.

Once they got to Solas’s place, however, her nerves came back in force. She purposely lagged behind the others as they made their way into the foyer, and when Solas buzzed them in, she made sure to keep her hands securely on the pot of curry she was carrying so she wouldn’t accidentally hit the button for Solas’s floor.

They made their way down the hall on the 11th floor, and when Solas’s apartment door opened, Nare was relieved when Merrill’s voice greeted them instead of Solas. “Hello everyone! Oh Creators, you brought so much food, how sweet, we’re going to have a feast fit for Satinalia! Athera, you’ll have to tell me what you think of my cake, I followed your advice to sift the dry ingredients together…” 

Nare allowed the others to sidle inside before her. When she finally stepped through the threshold and spotted Solas, her heart almost stopped. 

He was smiling and greeting everyone, and he was wearing a burgundy fitted sweater over a collared shirt. She had never seen him wearing red before, and such a vibrant deep shade of wine-red. But the thing that was causing her the most excitement – and distress – was his sleeves. 

His sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, and his forearms were on show. He reached out to take Tamaris’s coat, and Nare’s eyes got stuck on the veins in his forearms and hands for a moment. He never usually wore his sleeves rolled up. Why was he wearing them rolled up now? Was he purposely trying to torture her?

“Hello, Nare!” Dagna said.

Nare jumped, then exhaled and smiled at Dagna. “Dagna! How are you?”

“Wonderful!” Dagna said “Let me take that for you. Come on in, Solas would say to make yourself at home…” She took the pot of curry from Nare, then bustled off to the kitchen. 

Nare took a deep breath, then carefully dropped her gaze to her feet and started taking off her booties. A moment later, she felt rather than heard him approaching her.

“Nare,” he said quietly. “Welcome.”

She looked up. Everyone else had headed into the kitchen and living room areas, leaving her and Solas alone in the foyer.

Her heart flipped, but she ignored it. She straightened up and gave him what she hoped was a professional smile. “Hi, Solas. Thanks for having us.” 

“Thank you for coming,” he said politely. “Can I take your coat?”

“Yes, thanks,” she said. She dropped his gaze started unbuttoning her coat.

“Are you all right?” he said, very quietly. 

She paused and glanced at him again. His expression was still polite, still neutral, but there was a hint of a tilt to his eyebrows — a hint of that special tenderness that he reserved just for her, and the sight of it made her gut clench with longing.

She forced herself to smile. “I’m fine,” she assured him, and she finished unbuttoning her coat. 

Solas stepped behind her to help take off her coat. With Solas’s assistance, Nare shucked the coat off of her shoulders, and a moment later, she heard a very soft sigh. 

Solas took her coat. “You should not have worn this dress,” he said, very quietly.

His voice was very slightly husky, and it sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She followed him to the hall closet. “ _You_ shouldn’t have rolled up your sleeves,” she said just as quietly. 

He shot her a quick sideways glance as he hung her coat, and another pulse of excitement bloomed in her belly; the corners of his lips were turned up very slightly in the faintest hint of a smirk. “Should I roll my sleeves down, then?” he asked. 

“No,” she said immediately. And stupidly — so stupidly. She really should be telling him to roll his sleeves down if she knew what was good for her.

His smirk curled a little bit more. Then Tamlen called to them from the living room. “Solas, can I move your coffee table so we can use the carpet for gwent?”

“If you must,” Solas called back. Then he looked down at Nare once more. “Would you care for a drink?” 

His face was perfectly neutral once more, and Nare almost laughed out of sheer giddy nerves. Gods, she wished she could look as neutral as him. 

“Um, no thanks,” she said. “But I heard you’re really good at gwent.”

“Did you?” he said mildly. 

“Yes,” Nare said. She tilted her head. “Could you teach me to play, professor?”

He wet his lips, then nodded politely. “It would be my pleasure to teach you, Nare.”

A hot drop of excitement and nerves bloomed in her belly. He had _not_ just said something so provocative. How was she supposed to get through this unscathed when he said things like that?

She grinned at him, unable to help herself. Solas chuckled softly, then gestured to the living room. “Please, make yourself at home. I’ll join you and the others shortly.”

“Okay,” she said.

He nodded politely, then headed down the hall toward his bedroom, and she forced herself not to watch his sexy gait — or worse, to follow him. With a great effort of will, she turned away and went to join Tamlen and the others in the living room. 

It was going to be a long, _long_ night.

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris prowled slowly around Solas’s living room with her arms folded, studying his books and his knick-knacks while listening to everyone’s chatter with half an ear.

Nare, Tamlen, and Dagna were gathered in the living room discussing an article Dagna was working on while Tamlen fiddled with his gwent decks, and Athera and Merrill were talking animatedly about cake and setting out the cold food items on the dining table. Abelas, meanwhile, stood to the side of the dining table with his arms folded and a faint frown on his face. Athera flitted over to Abelas to ask him something, and Tamaris noted with amusement — and approval — that his expression softened completely when he looked at Athera.

Tamaris continued to wander around the living room, then caught Nare’s eye. Nare raised her eyebrows slightly and nodded subtly at the couch beside her, and Tamaris shook her head. She wasn’t quite in the mood yet to join the others in the living room. Maybe after another drink, she’d be in the mood for the requisite small talk. 

She studied the room’s decor for a moment longer. Solas had good taste, she’d give him that. She especially liked that he seemed to prefer lamps rather than overhead lighting. Then her eye caught on a particular piece of art on the wall that backed the kitchen — a beautiful piece of art that Tamaris had only seen a photo of before.

She padded over to the wall to better admire Felassan’s painting of wisdom and pride. It was even more gorgeous in person than in the photo he’d shown her. A moment later, Felassan joined her with two bottles of beer in hand. 

With a smile, he offered her a beer. “See something you like?”

She accepted the beer and smirked at him. “It’s okay, I guess.”

He chuckled. “If you prefer Solas’s work, you can tell me. I won’t be offended.” He gestured with his beer at the two paintings that flanked his own.

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Those are his pieces?” 

“Yes,” Felassan said. 

“They’re nice,” she said. The paintings were a pair of complementary abstract paintings that were surprisingly dynamic, considering that they were landscapes. Solas’s use of colour and shapes drew the eye naturally from one end of the painting to the other, almost like each landscape was telling a story. 

Felassan raised an eyebrow. “Nicer than mine?”

He was smirking. She snorted and elbowed him gently. “Are you fishing for compliments?” 

“Never,” Felassan said. “Only for the truth.”

“Uh-huh,” she said dryly. “Then here’s the truth: I can’t compare his paintings to yours. They’re way too different. Trying to compare pieces of totally different styles and techniques is like comparing a dinner knife to a fucking greatsword.”

“You’re correct,” Solas said. 

Tamaris drew back with some surprise as he joined them. He smiled faintly at her and clasped his hands behind his back as he went on. “Yet there are few who would deny that a greatsword makes for a finer weapon than a dinner knife.”

Tamaris frowned. “Well, that’s just taking the analogy too far. Art isn’t a weapon.”

“It can be used as such,” Solas said. “It has been used as such many times over in the past. Think of murals that re-enact wars and clashes of the bloody past, propaganda posters, even graffiti.”

“Hey,” Felassan said. “Don’t go insulting graffiti while I’m in the room.”

Solas grinned at him, but Tamaris kept her focus on Solas. “What you’re talking about is the purpose of the art, not the comparison of different mediums,” she said. “It’s a totally different issue.”

“One could argue that the purpose of your art determines the medium you use,” Solas replied.

She wrinkled her nose. “I mean, yeah, sometimes. But you can use several mediums to convey a single purpose or idea. And the significance of a medium can change over time, too,” she argued. “Purpose and medium aren’t a one-to-one relationship. Then every fucking painting about love would always be done in, I don’t know, watercolours or something.”

Solas’s smile widened slightly. Then he bowed his head. “You would know better than most about the malleable relationship between medium and purpose. Felassan has said you are an artist of vallaslin?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, a little belligerently. “And that’s a great example of a certain medium’s purpose being dramatically different from what it used to be.”

“Yes, it is,” Solas said. “The Dalish are fortunate to have an artist of such passion to keep their lore for them.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. Was he being sarcastic or genuine? He was so fucking mild-mannered that she almost didn’t believe it. But with Felassan right beside her, she didn’t want to make a scene.

“Thanks,” she said shortly.

He nodded a polite acknowledgment, then took a step away from them. “Excuse me for a moment; I should help Athera and Merrill with the food, or they will end up becoming the hostesses of this gathering.”

Felassan snickered. “I’m surprised Athera hasn’t already started bossing you around in the kitchen.”

“To be perfectly frank, so am I,” Solas said with a wry smile. He walked away, and when he was out of earshot, Tamaris blew out a breath and gave Felassan a suspicious look. 

“Did you tell him I don’t like small talk or something?” she said. “Because that was definitely not fucking small talk.”

Felassan didn’t reply. He was grinning at her, a shit-eating mischievous grin, and she wilted slightly. “Fuck, was I terrible? I didn’t mean to be a total bitch at your best friend’s house.”

He laughed and squeezed her waist. “You were exquisite. I’m not sure I have ever wanted to seduce you more than I do right now.”

Relieved, she smiled at him, then started laughing. “You are such an unbelievable rogue.”

He chuckled. “Come, _avise._ Let’s go to the kitchen and make some punch.” 

She nodded and followed him toward the kitchen, and as she did, she glanced at Solas, who was now following Athera’s directions as she gestured bossily at the dining table’s ample spread of food. 

_That’s nice,_ she thought. And he did seem nice enough. A know-it-all, though, if that conversation was anything to go by. She hoped she wouldn’t be called on to debate fucking fine art theory for the rest of the night. 

She sidled up to Felassan, who was rummaging in a cupboard as comfortably as though he was at home. “Just to be clear, I like your paintings more,” she told him quietly. 

He paused and grinned at her. “Look at you, breaking out the compliments after all. Are _you_ trying to seduce _me_?”

She scoffed, and Felassan chuckled and kissed her temple. “Come on, _avise,_ give me a hand. Go get the juices from the fridge.”

“Yes, boss,” she said sarcastically. 

He winked. “That’s my girl.” 

His words triggered a little pulse of warmth between her legs. _Ass,_ she thought in amusement. She shot him a dirty look as she went to the fridge, but Felassan was busy arranging liquor bottles and other punch ingredients on the counter beside a large glass punch bowl. 

She eyed the liquor bottles as she placed the juices on the counter. “This punch of yours has vodka, rum and gin in it?”

“It does,” he said cheerfully. “But you won’t taste them.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How is that even possible? You can’t mask the taste of gin.”

“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously. “Now slice up that lemon for me. Evenly-sized slices, _avise,_ ” he added. “It’s all for the aesthetic value.”

She _tsk_ ed and did as he’d asked. When the lemon was sliced, she picked up her beer and wandered over to the doorway that led back toward the dining-and-living room, then drank her beer while watching the party. 

Dagna, Athera, and Abelas were standing near the dining table and talking about the contact between dwarves and elves in the ancient past — or rather, Dagna and Athera were talking while Abelas listened and nodded somberly. In the living room, Tamlen had pushed aside the coffee table, and he was sitting on the floor with his gwent set and speaking animatedly with Merrill and Nare, who were kneeling on cushions on the floor, while Solas sat in an armchair close to them with a faint smile on his face. 

Behind her, Felassan was humming softly as he mixed his punch. She smiled to herself and drank her beer, and eventually she felt herself relaxing as she watched the party. She’d honestly been dreading this get-together somewhat; it had been years since she’d been around any academics. By the time she had quit her BFA, she’d been so heartsick and fed up with the pretentious self-congratulatory bullshit from her fine arts professors and their sycophantic protégés that she’d been frankly relieved to get away from academia — though that relief was hardly a soothing balm for the wound of Marin’s illness and her own failure to finish her degree. 

The people in this apartment didn’t seem like pretentious assholes, though. Abelas was a bit of a tough nut to crack, sure, but Tamaris was too, so she couldn’t blame him. Solas still struck her as being a bit of a mystery, what with the dramatic difference between his polite manner now and Felassan’s tales of his charisma and his coldness. But as Tamaris watched him nodding thoughtfully at something Nare was saying, she supposed she could be generous and assume he wasn’t a total dick. 

She studied her beer bottle, then smirked when she realized it was empty. Or maybe she was just loosening up thanks to the alcohol.

As though he could hear her thoughts, Felassan called to her from the kitchen. “ _Avise,_ come and try this punch for me.”

She wandered over to him and traded her empty beer bottle for the glass of punch he was offering. She sniffed it and raised her eyebrows; it only smelled very faintly of gin. 

She took a sip, then looked at Felassan in genuine surprise. “It really doesn’t taste like booze.” 

“I know,” he said complacently. 

She smirked, then took another sip. “This is dangerous. You could shitfaced on this really fast.”

“Exactly,” Felassan said with a grin. “If things start getting dreadfully academic, I start plying everyone with punch.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh. “You do not.”

“I certainly do,” he said. “Don’t worry, though; they all know exactly how much alcohol is in it, and they love it. Well, except Abelas,” he added. “He refuses to drink my punch after an incident of overindulgence that happened some ten-odd years ago.”

She grinned and took another sip of punch. “An ‘incident of overindulgence’?”

“An incident for which I can’t be entirely blamed,” Felassan said earnestly. “Solas played an equal role.”

She laughed. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

“You will when you see Solas’s tricky side coming out during gwent,” Felassan said mischievously. 

Tamaris shook her head in amusement. Then Nare wandered in with a smile. “Hey,” she said. “Hiding out in here?”

“Yep,” Tamaris said shamelessly. “But maybe I’ll come out when I finish this drink.”

Nare peered with interest at Tamaris’s glass. “Ooh, what are you drinking there?”

“Punch,” Felassan said. “My special recipe. Would you care for some?”

His tone was bland and his expression innocent. Tamaris snorted and flicked his arm. “Don’t trust his face,” she told Nare. “There’s a shit ton of booze in it. But it’s really good.”

“I’m both insulted and flattered,” Felassan said. 

Tamaris smiled at him, and Nare chuckled but shook her head. “No thanks, then. I’ll just have some water.”

“You don’t want cider or wine?” Felassan asked. “There are both in the fridge. You can help yourself.”

“No, I’m okay,” Nare said.

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. It was unusual for Nare to not have even one drink at a party. “Are you feeling okay?” she asked.

Nare widened her eyes. “Yeah, why?”

Tamaris shrugged. “You’re not drinking. And you were a little quiet on the way here.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” Nare assured her. She smiled faintly. “Maybe I’m trying to follow Athera’s lead and not get smashed at a work party.”

Felassan nodded sagely. “Yes, sobriety is a virtue at work parties,” he said. He looked at Tamaris with a smile. “Good thing this isn’t a work party for us, isn’t it?”

Tamaris snorted a laugh and poked his abs. “This _is_ a work party for you.”

“Teaching only comprises about twenty-five percent of my work,” he said. “Which means I can get seventy-five percent drunk, and _you_ can get as drunk as you like.”

Nare chuckled. “Felassan, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Tamaris protested.

Nare’s smile widened. “It means you’re either a mellow drunk or an angry one, and it’s anyone’s guess which one we’re going to get.”

Tamaris wrinkled her nose, then shrugged and leaned back against the counter. “Fine, I guess that’s fair.” She looked at Felassan. “What do you think? Should I get drunk?”

He laughed. “You shouldn’t ask me. The more ornery you get, the more charmed I am.”

Tamaris scoffed, and Nare chuckled. “Uh-oh. I better get my water and get out of here, then.” She moved into the kitchen, then hesitated and looked at Felassan. “Where are the, um, glasses?”

He tilted his head at the selection of glasses on the counter, and she let out a little laugh. “Oh, right. Thanks.” She got some water from the fridge dispenser, then took a sip and smiled at Tamaris. “So? Ready to come join us?”

Tamaris nodded, then drained her glass of punch in three gulps, and Felassan let out a low whistle. “Playing with fire, _avise?_ I like where this is going.”

He was grinning that gorgeous shit-eating grin. Tamaris shot him a chiding smirk — he was such a brat! — then looked at Nare, who was smiling fondly at her. 

“All right,” Tamaris said. “Let’s go join this fucking party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, OKAY, I'm a little obsessed with the Witcher, so gwent gets a cameo. And like Tamaris, I am NOT VERY GOOD AT IT, which upsets me, but I'm not gonna go on and on about it. 😂😭
> 
> Next up: Abelas POV!
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your lovely artiste and creator of Minxy Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	36. Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Party time, part 2! 🎉

###  ABELAS 

“... and that’s what I find so fascinating about the Hormok site,” Dagna said earnestly to Athera. “Our ancestors and your ancestors were obviously in contact — very close contact! The artifacts they bring back from the Hormok site could change everything we know about that particular period of history, you know? It’s just so interesting. If my application to the Wardens’ work-study program goes through—”

“It will, Dagna,” Athera said firmly. “I just know it. Your application was so good!”

“Oh, I know better than to get my hopes up,” Dagna said. “But if it does go through… by the Ancestors, the things I’ll learn! Even my father will be impressed at how much I’ll learn.”

Athera’s eyebrows twisted sympathetically. “I still find it crazy that he’s not proud of how accomplished you are.”

Dagna waved her hand dismissively. “He’s proud in his own way. He just doesn't get it, you know? He likes to say that he’s the hands and I’m the head.” She shrugged cheerfully. “Anyway, so much to learn! It’s all just fascinating.”

“It really is,” Athera agreed. “And the interactions between ancient Orzammar and Arlathan are reflected in the writing from that time too, right, Abelas?”

Abelas blinked, surprised at being addressed directly. “Er, yes. That is correct.”

Athera looked up at him. “What do you think was the greatest impact of Orzammar-Arlathani contact on the poetry from that time, for instance?”

He gazed at her wordlessly, momentarily distracted from the conversation by her beauty. Her clear grey eyes looked larger than usual somehow, and her hair was gathered into an elegant bun that showed off the delicate column of her neck — a delicate neck that was featuring more prominently at the front of his mind as the days went on. 

Athera’s neck, his fingers — the feel of her velvety skin when he cradled her neck in his palm… 

_Focus,_ he scolded himself. “It is difficult to say whether the greatest impact was on the use of rhetorical devices, or on the rhythm of the prose,” he said. “Ancient Orzammari was a very literal language — not surprising, as the modern common tongue is descended from it. Elvhen, on the other hand, is very metaphorical, and this is reflected in the poetry. The poetry that was written during the height of contact between ancient Orzammar and Arlathan became so literal that some might argue that it was no longer poetry at all.”

Athera’s eyes widened. “Oh wow. I had no idea. Is that how _you_ feel about the poetry from that time?”

“I can see both sides of the argument,” he said slowly. “But if pressed to choose one side, then yes: I would say that some of the poetry written during the fifteenth century in particular does not constitute poetry at all. That is not to say it was not literature, however.”

“That’s what I was going to ask next!” Athera said brightly. “What was the difference between literature and poetry, then, if the poetry was becoming so literal?”

“An excellent question,” he said. “The answer could very well be that there was none. But remember, poetry is a subgenre of literature, which means that the discussion of poetry versus literature for the works of that time is, in essence, a circular argument. Many academics fall into the trap of trying to classify the poetry of the time for its so-called subgenre rather than analyzing it for its intended meaning — for the truth it was attempting to convey. And the meaning conveyed in the writing is far more important than its classification.” He broke off, and only when he noticed Dagna’s stunned expression did he realize how long he had been talking. 

He frowned, feeling slightly defensive. Then Athera rested her hand on his forearm. “Why did you stop?”

“I have nothing further to say on the matter,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Well, that’s not true. You clearly have a lot more to say, and you should say it.”

He raised his eyebrows at her matter-of-fact tone, and Dagna nodded. “Yes, tell us more, Professor Abelas! I want to know more about poetry from the time. Literature, I mean,” she said hastily.

“You do?” he said suspiciously.

“Of course!” Dagna said. “I can include this in the assignment for my classical dwarven history class!”

“I see,” Abelas said, feeling rather bemused.

Athera smiled at him and squeezed his forearm, and his heart did a little thump. He tore his eyes away from her lovely face to look at Dagna once more. “All right. What precisely would you like to—”

Something brushed against his calf. Startled, he looked down, then wilted; Solas’s cat was twining herself around his ankles — and leaving hair on his trousers, of course. 

Athera gasped. “Aw, is this the famous Fenor?” She lowered herself to her knees and reached for Fenor, but the cat immediately shied away from her. 

“It’s okay, Fenor, I won’t bite,” Athera crooned. She held out her hand, but Fenor was huddled under the dining table now. 

“Oh shoot,” Athera said sadly. “I don’t think she likes me.”

“Do not take it personally,” Abelas said. “That cat is exceptionally contrary. She shuns the people who desire her company, and she will not keep her distance from those who don’t.”

“That’s not true,” Felassan said as he emerged from the kitchen with Tamaris and Nare. “Fenor just doesn’t like strangers.” He crouched beside Athera and made a kissing noise at the cat. “Come on, kitten,” he said coaxingly. “Come say hello to Athera. She’s basically a kitten herself.”

Abelas shot him a sharp look — was he flirting with Athera? — but Athera just _tsk_ ed and nudged his shoulder. “I am not. And look, Fenor won’t come out for you. I think Abelas was right.”

“Give her a minute,” Felassan said. He made a kissing noise again. “Come on out, Fenor.” 

Tamaris huffed in amusement and folded her arms. “I don’t know, Felassan. That cat looks pretty comfortable under there.”

Felassan grinned up at her. “Patience, _avise_. Some cats need some time to — ah, there we go.”

Fenor had finally crept out from under the table and was rubbing her face against Felassan’s knuckles. Felassan smiled triumphantly at Abelas and Tamaris. “See? She just doesn’t like strangers.”

Abelas shrugged and folded his arms. He genuinely wasn’t invested in this argument one way or another, as long as it meant he wouldn’t be getting more cat hair on his slacks. 

Dagna tapped her chin thoughtfully. “But Fenor doesn’t let me pet her, and she’s met me a couple of times a year for the past few years.”

“Ah, well.” Felassan made a mock-sad face. “That’s because Fenor doesn’t like redheads.”

Dagna snorted, and Athera giggled as she and Felassan rose to their feet. “That’s silly. Cats can’t see red.”

“They can sense the redheaded aura,” Felassan said knowingly. “They’re wise creatures. They know to stay away from that kind of trouble.”

“Uh-huh,” Tamaris said dryly. “Then explain this.” She pointed at Fenor, who was now rubbing against Nare’s shins.

Felassan raised his eyebrows. “Huh. That’s unexpected.”

“It isn’t,” Abelas said wearily. “I told you, the cat is contrary. Nare was not even trying to get her attention.”

“It’s okay,” Nare said softly. “I don’t mind her attention.” She knelt carefully on the ground and started petting Fenor. “Hi, pretty girl. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Felassan sighed dramatically. “So much for being a wise creature.”

Nare smiled up at him. “Don’t worry, I’m hardly any trouble.” She scratched Fenor’s rump for a moment longer, then rose to her feet. “I’m going to sit with the others and learn a little more about gwent.”

“Study hard,” Felassan said. “There’ll be a test later.”

“By which he means an endless tournament,” Abelas said flatly.

Felassan chuckled. “Keep pretending you’re not looking forward to it. It’ll be that much sweeter to watch you repeatedly lose.”

Abelas pursed his lips. Despite what Felassan said, Abelas didn’t _enjoy_ gwent particularly. It was just difficult to stop playing the blasted game once he got started, almost like an addiction. All the more reason to avoid playing it, truly, but Felassan always managed to goad him into it nonetheless.

Nare left them to join Solas and the others in the living room, and Athera looked up at Abelas with wide eyes. “Should we join Nare and Tamlen, too? I don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t know how to play.”

“We can, if you like,” Abelas said. If he was being entirely honest, he just wanted to continue talking to her. But that would be churlish to admit, particularly since they would have ample time to talk in private tomorrow during their brunch date. 

“Okay,” Athera said happily. “Let me just grab something to drink first, I’m parched. Would you like anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said. 

She nodded, then darted off to the kitchen, and Felassan shot him a mischievous little smile. “Solas told me that he still has a couple bottles of port from back home. I think we should get him to bring them out.”

Abelas raised an eyebrow. “Port is meant for special occasions.”

“It could be argued that every gathering of friends is a special occasion,” Felassan said smoothly. “Besides, we have three new Dalish companions in our midst who have never had Arlathani port before.”

“That is true,” Abelas said slowly. “Bidding welcome to new guests does count as a special occasion.” 

“I knew you’d see reason,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I’ll go hassle him.” He tweaked a lock of Tamaris’s curly hair. “Can you stand to be deprived of my company for a minute?”

“I think I’ll survive, yeah,” she said wryly. 

He grinned at her, then sauntered off to the living room, leaving Tamaris and Abelas alone.

Abelas eyed Felassan’s partner with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Athera had mentioned that Abelas and Tamaris were similar in manner, but from what he had heard about her, he didn’t believe they had much in common to discuss. 

She folded her arms and gave him an appraising look but didn’t speak, and Abelas folded his arms as well as he returned her steady gaze. Finally she spoke. “Sorry for the silence,” she said. “I fucking hate small talk.”

He blinked at her bluntness. Then he nodded. “Do not apologize. I am not a fan of small talk myself. I have little patience for social chatter that is devoid of meaning.”

She raised her eyebrows. Then, to his surprise, a smile lifted her lips. “Yeah, exactly. I’d rather not talk at all if I don’t have anything important to say.”

He smiled faintly as well, pleased to be understood. “Yes, precisely.”

Tamaris huffed in amusement, and they stood together in a comfortable silence for a moment. Then Athera joined them with a glass of punch in her hand. “Hi!” she chirped. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Tamaris said, quite truthfully. She eyed Athera’s glass. “Why are you drinking that?”

“I was super thirsty,” Athera said. “Have you had any of this? It’s really delicious. It’s got just a little hint of juniper, it’s nice!”

“Yes, that would be the gin,” Abelas said wryly.

To his surprise, Athera’s face fell. “Gin? What do you mean?”

Abelas frowned. What did _she_ mean? 

Tamaris made a face. “Athera, I hate to break it to you, but that punch is packed full of booze.”

Abelas’s gut dropped. Did Athera not know the punch was alcoholic? 

Apparently she didn’t, for her expression was becoming one of horror. “It is?” she gasped. “Oh gods. Oh gods. How much alcohol?”

Tamaris rubbed her nose. “Uh, I’m not sure exactly, but a lot…”

“Oh no. Oh my gods,” Athera squeaked.

Alarmed now, Abelas took the glass from her hand. “What is wrong?” he demanded. “Are you allergic to alcohol?”

“No!” she whimpered. “I’m not allergic, I just — oh no…”

Before Abelas could press her any further, Felassan rejoined them. He glanced at the glass in Abelas’s hand and raised an eyebrow. “You’re drinking that?” he asked. “I thought you’d sworn it off for life after that time you—”

Abelas interrupted him. “Athera drank your punch,” he said accusingly. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” Felassan said. He turned to Athera with a grin. “It’s good, isn’t it?”

“No!” she cried. “I mean — yes, it’s super tasty, but I didn’t know there was booze in it!”

“Oh,” he said. Then his eyebrows rose. “ _Oh_. How much of it did you drink?” 

“A whole glass,” she wailed. 

Tamaris’s eyes widened, and Abelas double-taked at her. She had drunk an entire glass of this punch? A single glass of Felassan’s punch contained approximately four ounces’ worth of liquor! 

Felassan’s face lit up with a smile. Then, to Abelas’s great irritation, he started to laugh.

Athera smacked his arm. “Stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Felassan chortled. 

“There is no humour here,” Abelas said severely. “She drank your alcoholic punch without being aware that it was alcoholic!”

“Yes, which is exactly why it’s funny,” Felassan said.

“Stop laughing at me!” Athera cried. “I’m a super cheap drunk!”

Felassan snorted, and Tamaris elbowed him. “Hey, stop laughing. It’s not fucking funny.”

“No?” Felassan said archly. “Then why are you smiling?”

“I’m not smiling,” Tamaris said.

Abelas frowned at her. Now that Felassan mentioned it, she was indeed smiling.

Felassan chuckled and draped his around Tamaris’s shoulders, and Athera stomped her foot. “You’re both terrible! How could do you do this to me?”

Tamaris grimaced, and Felassan arranged his face into a grave expression. “Athera, I am sorry you drank the punch. I assure you that it wasn’t my intention to inebriate you without your knowledge.”

“Then why did you make the punch so… not-boozy-tasting?” she complained. 

“Because I’m a firm believer in enjoying the finer things in life,” he said. “Including the process of getting drunk. Not everyone is a fan of the taste of spirits.” He shrugged. “The others enjoy the punch. Merrill loves it, for instance.”

Abelas scowled at him, unmollified by his apology. “You should have told Athera it was alcoholic.”

“Now that’s unfair,” Felassan retorted. “How was I to know she was going to go and chug a whole glass of it when no one was looking?”

“I didn’t chug it!” Athera said defensively.

Felassan cocked his head knowingly. “You said you were parched.”

“I — okay, fine, maybe I chugged it,” she admitted. “But only because it tasted so good and I didn’t know it was boozy!”

Felassan smirked and rubbed his mouth, and Abelas glared at him. “Stop laughing immediately. This is entirely inappropriate.”

Athera wilted. “That’s what I was afraid of! I didn’t—” She broke off and patted her reddened cheeks, then turned to Tamaris. “I’m so embarrassed. Tam, what should I do—”

“Athera, it’s okay,” she said soothingly. “You’ll be fine.”

Athera lowered her voice, but not enough that Abelas couldn’t hear. “But what if — I don’t want to make an idiot of myself in front of… everyone.”

“You won’t,” Tamaris said quietly. “You’re a super cute drunk. You’ll be fine.”

Abelas took a step closer to her. “Yes, you will be fine. We will take care of you.”

“B-but I didn’t want—” She broke off and gazed pleadingly up at him, and the distress in her lovely face made something swell in his chest.

He curled an arm around her and glared at Felassan. “Go make a sign for the punch stating that it is alcoholic.” 

“But if she’s already drunk it… fine, fine,” he sighed, and he made his way to Solas’s desk in the living room.

Tamaris stroked Athera’s hair. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll grab you some water, okay?”

Athera nodded, and Tamaris went to the kitchen, leaving Athera and Abelas alone. He squeezed her shoulder gently. “How do you feel?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” she said breezily. She straightened up and gave him a bright smile — a little too bright, truth be told — then looked away from him and folded her arms, and Abelas eyed her with growing consternation.

“Are you certain you are all right?” he asked. “If the alcohol will have detrimental effects on your health…”

She waved her hand. “No, no, it’s not – seriously, Abelas, I’m fine. It does nothing to my health. Just to my, um, dignity.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She eyed him for a second, then unfolded her arms with a sigh. “It’s like I said. I’m a cheap drunk. A single glass of wine is usually enough for me to get tipsy, so that’s usually all I’ll have. But I just drank a whole glass of that punch, and if it’s as bad as Felassan makes it sound…” She trailed off, then gave Abelas a sideways look. “Do you know how much alcohol is usually in that punch?”

“I do,” he said, somewhat reluctantly. After all, he had learned firsthand how potent Felassan’s dastardly punch could be, and in circumstances not unlike the one Athera now found herself in.

“And?” she said. “How much booze is in a single glass?”

Abelas sighed and ran a hand over his braid. “About… four ounces’ worth.”

Her eyes went impossibly huge. “Four ounces of hard liquor? In a single serving?”

“Yes,” Abelas said flatly. “There is a good reason I avoid this punch.” He eyed the glass in his hand with distaste.

Athera stared at him wordlessly, and he studied her with growing worry. Her expression was blank with shock, and the longer he waited for her to speak, the more he started to wonder if—

She snorted suddenly and clapped her hand over her mouth, and Abelas was instantly alarmed. Had she thrown up? What was the matter?

“Are you sick?” he demanded. He curled his arm around her once more. “Come, I will show you the restroom.”

She patted his hand. “I’m not sick, I’m not sick, I promise! I just –” She broke off and rubbed her nose, then laughed.

Abelas stared at her as she snorted another laugh. Then she looked up at him with a broad smile. “I drank four shots in about ten seconds and I didn’t even know it.”

“Yes, that is true,” he said. He was feeling rather nonplussed now. Why was she smiling?

Her smile broadened, and she giggled again. “Oh gods. You’re going to think I’m an idiot by the end of the night.”

He frowned. “Why would I think that?”

“I get stupid when I’m drunk,” she said. She snickered, then arranged her face into a grave expression before looking up at him. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He softened. “Athera–”

She snickered again, then sighed and gave him a mournful look. “I drank the punch because I thought it was non-alcoholic, you see? I was all, ‘I’m going to be responsible and professional so you don’t think I’m silly,’ and—” She broke off with another giggle and patted her pinkening cheeks. “Oh spirits, this punch is strong.”

He rubbed her back gently and shot an annoyed look at Felassan, who was chatting with Tamlen while making a sign with some paper and a pen at Solas’s desk. 

Athera suddenly spun toward him and took hold of his blazer. “Abelas, I think I’m drunk.”

He blinked at her, stunned by her closeness. She was gripping his blazer, and her chest was almost touching his front. “Er, yes, I believe you are,” he stammered.

She giggled, then released his blazer and hid her face in her hands with a groan. “Oh no…”

Tamaris came out of the kitchen with a glass of water. “How are we doing over here?” she said.

Athera reached for her and grabbed her wrist. “Tam, I’m drunk,” she announced. 

Tamaris smirked, and Athera wilted. “Stop laughing! It’s not funny!”

Tamaris gave her a knowing look, and a sheepish smile crept over Athera’s face. She leaned into Tamaris’s side and giggled, and Tamaris patted her arm. “Uh-huh, okay. Come on, drink this water.”

Abelas stepped closer to them. “Should we be concerned?” he asked Tamaris in a low voice.

Athera lowered the glass of water. “I can hear you, you know,” she sing-songed.

Tamaris ignored her. “Nah, no need to worry. She gets giggly and cuddly when she’s drunk—”

“I said I can hear you!” Athera said loudly. 

Abelas recoiled slightly, and Tamaris continued to ignore her. “... or stubborn,” she finished.

“More stubborn than usual?” Abelas asked.

Tamaris smirked, and Athera looked up at Abelas with a wide-eyed look of affront. “Are you calling me stubborn?” 

“You _are_ stubborn at times,” he said cautiously. 

Tamaris coughed to hide a laugh, and Abelas watched worriedly as Athera straightened to her full height — which wasn’t to say much, given that she was so diminutive. She stared hard at him, and he waited in resignation for her to start telling him off the way she did sometimes when she disagreed with him at work…

She suddenly relaxed and chuckled. “Fine, you’re right,” she said. “But you know who else is stubborn?” 

He wilted slightly. “Allow me to guess. Myself?”

“No, not you,” she said, to his surprise. She stumbled toward him and hugged his arm, then pointed at Tamaris with a flourish. “You!” 

Abelas didn’t reply, too preoccupied by Athera clutching his arm. Tamaris chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s maybe see if it’s time to eat yet. You could use some bread or something.”

“Yes, that is a fine idea,” Abelas said in relief. 

“What’s a fine idea?” Solas said as he joined them with the others in tow.

“Eating,” Abelas said. “Athera could — _we_ could use something to eat.”

“He means me,” Athera said pertly. “I’m drunk.”

Solas blinked in surprise, and Nare shifted over and gazed at her with wide eyes. “What happened? I thought you weren’t going to drink!”

“I wasn’t,” Athera said. She pointed at Felassan. “ _He_ made punch.”

A ripple of laughter went up from the group, and Felassan clicked his tongue. “Am I forever to be blamed for people drinking more than they can handle?”

Abelas scowled at him. “It is more often than not your fault.”

“How so?” Felassan said.

“You made the punch!” Abelas exclaimed.

Felassan shot him a chiding look. “The maker of the poison is not responsible for how the poison is used.” 

“So you admit that your punch is like poison,” Abelas said accusingly. 

“I love it,” Athera announced. “It’s the best punch in all of Thedas.”

Nare and Tamaris snorted, and Merrill tittered. “We’ll join you, Athera,” she said brightly. “I love Felassan’s punch, too!” She tugged Tamlen’s sleeve, and she and Tamlen and Dagna made a beeline for the punch bowl in the kitchen.

Abelas pursed his lips as he watched them clamouring around the punch. _Students,_ he thought in annoyance. They could be so lowbrow at times. It was quite undignified indeed.

Solas chuckled softly. “All right. I think Abelas has a point; it is time to eat, especially if Felassan has made his punch already.” He turned to Nare. “May I request your help?”

“Sure,” she said, and they went to the kitchen, presumably to fetch the food that was heating on the oven and the stove.

Felassan let out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m still feeling somehow like I’m being blamed for this fiasco.” He gestured at Athera, who was still hugging Abelas’s arm. 

“I’m not a fiasco,” Athera said belligerently. “ _You’re_ a fiasco.” She giggled and leaned her head against Abelas’s arm, then looked up at him. “You smell nice.”

He stared at her. She thought he smelled nice?

Felassan chuckled, then patted one of the chairs at the circular dining table. “All right, fiasco girl, take a seat,” he said drolly to Athera. He turned to Tamaris and began murmuring something to her as they chose their seats, and Abelas eyed the ample spread of food that was already on the table. Was there any bread among all the dishes that everyone had brought? It really was the best thing to soak up the alcohol in Athera’s stomach. Abelas wished he had thought to bring some bread instead of a salad, but as he ate bread so infrequently—

“Abelas,” Athera said in a hushed voice, “I have to tell you something.”

He looked at her worriedly. “Yes? What is it?”

She gestured for him to come closer. He bent down to her, and she took hold of his lapels and lifted her chin. 

Her lips brushed the edge of his ear. “Don’t let me kiss you tonight.”

A tingly bolt of shock zipped through his limbs like lightning. “I beg your pardon?” he said faintly.

“I can’t kiss you tonight,” she whispered. “I like you so much, but I’m super drunk and we only kissed once and I don’t want to forget our second kiss. So I can’t kiss you tonight, okay?”

 _I like you so much._ Her words were a warm breeze against his ear, and his heart was suddenly hammering in his chest.

He swallowed hard before replying. “I would not presume to kiss you when you are inebriated,” he told her quietly. 

Her beautiful grey eyes widened. “You wouldn’t?”

“I would not dare to attempt something so dishonourable,” he said. “Your safety is my only concern now.” He lowered his voice. “And I, too, would only wish to kiss you when I am certain that it would be memorable.”

Her rosy cheeks turned a deep and lovely red. She tugged gently on his lapels and beamed at him. “I really want to kiss you, though.”

He gazed affectionately at her. His heart was pounding still and spreading a breathtaking sort of warmth through his body, and… _fenedhis,_ he wanted to kiss her as well. But there was no chance whatsoever that he would do so tonight, not while she was so drunk.

He tenderly brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Seat yourself here,” he said, and he ushered her into the chair beside Tamaris.

She obediently sat down and beamed at him, and he helplessly returned her smile as he sat beside her. When he was seated, she took his hand in both of hers. 

Another little thrill pulsed through his chest. She was twining her fingers with his and petting his knuckles with her free hand, and the casual intimacy of her touch was… unexpected. And wonderful. 

_And unintentional,_ he told himself severely. She wouldn’t be touching him so familiarly if she wasn’t drunk, which meant he should probably discourage her from holding his hand. And he would, soon. As soon as everyone else joined them at the table. 

Tamaris turned to Athera and began speaking to her. Then Nare addressed him from his other side. “Professor Abelas?”

He glanced at her distractedly. “Yes, Nare?” 

“Don’t let Athera eat too much at dinner,” Nare said quietly. “She’ll say she’s really hungry, but she usually gets sick if she eats a full meal while she’s been drinking. I know it sounds weird, but it’s just how her stomach works for some reason.”

“I understand,” he said. Truthfully, however, he was preoccupied. Athera was brushing her thumb over his knuckles and laughing at something Tamaris had said, and her drunken laughter was just as enthralling as the sound of her mirth when she was sober.

Athera turned to face him and Nare, and her face lit up. “Nare!” she chirped. “Are you going to sit next to us?”

“I can’t, sorry,” Nare said. “Merrill’s sitting next to Abelas already. Yell to me across the table, okay?”

Athera grinned. “I’ll throw food at you across the table.”

Nare laughed. “Probably not the best idea.”

“I must agree,” Abelas said wryly.

Athera smiled broadly at him, and he was snared yet again by how breathtakingly lovely she was, even when she was swaying faintly in her seat from the alcohol. 

“All right,” Solas announced from across the table. “Now that we are all seated, I would like to make a few remarks.”

“Keep the lecture short, professor,” Felassan called out.

Everyone except for Abelas laughed, and Solas shot him a chiding smirk. “Thank you for that, Felassan,” he said dryly. He clasped his hands behind his back, and his expression grew serious. “Thank you all for coming. I realize that this invitation was relatively last-minute, for which I apologize. But as always, I am pleased that we are all here, and that we are welcoming three new faces to our group this year: Tamaris, Athera, and Nare.” He nodded to each of them, finishing with Nare, who was seated beside him. 

Felassan draped his arm proudly around Tamaris’s shoulders, and Nare smiled bashfully while Dagna, Tamlen and Merrill clapped and cheered. Athera chuckled and released Abelas’s hand to pat her cheeks. “Aw, you’re all so sweet!”

Solas smiled at her, then picked up his glass of Arlathani port — port that had been poured for everyone at the table at some point while Abelas was otherwise distracted, it seemed. 

“A toast, then,” Solas said. “To our ongoing quest for knowledge, and to the excellent company with which we have the fortune of chasing that knowledge.” He lifted his glass and smiled at them all. “ _Enansal’in_ and cheers.”

An enthusiastic round of cheerful toasting ensued. Solas met Abelas’s eye with a smile, and Abelas smiled faintly in return before taking a tiny sip from his glass of port. 

He turned back to Athera, and a jolt of alarm spiked through his gut. She was lowering her port glass from her lips — her empty port glass, he noted with dismay. Had she just drained her entire glass of port in one go?

She blinked at him with wide and slightly bleary eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”

Abelas gently took the glass from her hand. “It would be prudent for you not to have any more alcohol tonight,” he advised her. He placed the glass to the side of his plate, then began helping her to vegetable curry and rice.

 _She needs to eat,_ he thought determinedly. He heaped another spoonful of curry on her plate, then reached gratefully for a platter of sliced Orlesian bread. 

“Awww,” she cooed. “You’re serving me!”

“Of course I am,” he told her. “You must eat, Athera.” He placed three pieces of bread on her plate.

“Okay,” she said happily. “But only because you’re serving me like such a sweet gentleman. It’s so cute.” She beamed at him, then began to eat the curry and rice.

Abelas smiled faintly and served her some chickpea salad. _Food is the solution,_ he thought. _Some food in her stomach will mitigate the alcohol._ Secure in the knowledge that he was taking good care of her, Abelas loaded another generous spoonful of salad onto Athera’s plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that I'm not gonna mention whose POV is coming up next for the rest of the party. YAY SURPRISES! But I will say this: everyone's POV gets featured at least once. 😊
> 
> Next chapter on Sunday, I think! Or maybe late Saturday. We'll see how I feel!


	37. Stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dinner time! For convenience, [here's a pic of where everyone is seated at the table. ](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/697219319255400469/802606236322496572/image0.jpg)I describe it in the fic too but THIS IS FASTER. 😜

###  SOLAS 

Nare was sitting beside him at the table, and he could not decide whether her closeness was more pleasurable or torturous.

He had started the night with the best of intentions. He’d been confident that he would be able to maintain his professional attitude when everyone in their lab was present; after all, he and Nare had interacted with each other in the presence of their other lab members many times before, and it had yet to be a problem. When Dagna, Tamlen and Merrill were the first to arrive at his apartment, his conviction only grew stronger. This truly was a lab party like any other, and the usual thrill he derived from Nare’s visits to his apartment would certainly be dulled by everyone else’s presence. 

What Solas hadn’t counted on, however, was for Nare to wear _that_ dress: the short backless green dress that he had commanded her to remove in the changing room at the Black Emporium. 

He should have guessed that she would wear this dress. He knew how much of a vixen Nare could be, and it was his own fault for not anticipating this sort of temptation. More importantly, it was _his_ responsibility to make sure that nothing untoward happened. He was Nare’s supervisor first and foremost, and it was his responsibility to ensure that things remained professional during this gathering, and that no one discovered how terribly he and Nare were violating the standards of behaviour that everyone else in the lab was abiding by.

No matter how tempted Solas was by the perfect ivory expanse of her back, by the thought of trailing his fingers along the nape of her neck and her delicate shoulder blades and down to that dainty zipper at the small of her back, it was Solas’s responsibility to keep his hands and his torrid thoughts to himself. 

Unfortunate, then, that Nare was sitting beside him, and that the size of his circular table was such that their knees kept brushing together distractingly beneath the table.

He helped himself to a serving of spinach and strawberry salad, then offered the bowl to Nare. “Would you care for some?” he said politely.

“Yes please,” she said, equally politely. She took the bowl and helped herself to salad, and Solas carefully returned his gaze to his plate and began to eat. 

On his other side, Dagna and Tamlen were engaged in a lively discussion about the Mandalorian. Across the table, Felassan and Tamaris were chatting with a giggly and pink-cheeked Athera. On Nare’s other side, Merrill was chattering to Abelas about a novel she was reading for his literature seminar, and Abelas was nodding silently while intermittently encouraging Athera to eat. 

There was no other recourse. Solas had no choice but to speak to Nare. If he didn’t, their behaviour would appear obviously stilted. 

He dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then turned to her. “How is your skin tone study coming along?” he asked. He had tasked her with painting two versions of two portraits with different skin tones – one version with oils, and one with watercolours. 

“My…? Oh right,” she stammered. “it’s — I think it’s all right.”

“Only all right?” he prompted.

She met his eye, then straightened in her chair and brushed a tendril of hair away from her face. “It’s, um, going well.” She gave him a tiny rueful smile. “By which I mean I’ve started over the oil version twice instead of forcing myself to finish it.”

He chuckled, comforted by the normalcy of her response. “That must have been difficult for you.”

“So difficult,” she agreed. “Especially since I was happy with the watercolour part of the study on the first try.”

He nodded and speared a bite of spinach salad with his fork. “Would you like some feedback on the oil portion?”

She twisted her lips thoughtfully. “Um… maybe you could have a look at it, but not give me any feedback just yet.”

He tilted his head quizzically, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “I want you to see me getting better at it rather than struggling all the time,” she said.

He lowered his fork and gave her a chiding look. “Nare, you know that—”

“—I don’t have to be perfect and it’s only the first semester, I know,” she said hurriedly. “I just… I want you to be proud of me.”

“I _am_ proud of you,” he said. “You are a very fast learner and an excellent student.”

He regretted his words instantly, particularly when her ocean-blue eyes brightened with warmth. A drop of heat and nerves pulsed in his belly, and he picked his fork up and looked at his plate once more. “The last time I had such a promising student was when I was mentoring Felassan,” he said in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s — that’s nice to know. Thank you.”

He nodded and took a bite of salad, and as he chewed, he shot her a little sideways glance. She was toying with her food, and for the thousandth time tonight, he wished he could touch her to reassure her. Even just the tiniest touch: a squeeze of her shoulder or her thigh, a brush of his knuckles along the line of her jaw… 

An unwelcome feeling of longing gripped his heart. He took another bite of salad and chewed it mindlessly while listening just as mindlessly to Tamlen and Dagna’s animated conversation. 

Then Nare broke the awkward silence between them. “Can I show you the study, then?”

He looked up. “Certainly,” he said. “And you truly wish for no feedback?”

She gave him a tiny smile. “If you don’t mind.”

He smiled in return, then bowed his head playfully. “All right. I will do my best to be a silent observer.” 

Her smile widened. She set her fork down and began fumbling with the skirt of her dress, and Solas watched in surprise as she pulled her phone out of her pocket — a pocket he hadn’t known she had.

“There are pockets in your dress?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She smiled at him as she flicked through her phone. “It’s rare for dresses to have pockets. The pockets might be my favourite thing about this dress, actually.”

“Interesting,” he said. Privately, he couldn’t help but think that the pockets were the least interesting thing about her dress. But he obviously couldn’t say this. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that his thoughts were not private enough; Nare’s eyes darted up to his face, and there was a tense split-second where he could see in her eyes that she knew what he was thinking.

They looked away from each other, Solas at his plate and Nare at her phone. She tapped and scrolled on her phone, then leaned a little closer to him and tentatively held out her phone. “Here’s the study. The oil part, at least.” 

He leaned in slightly to see her screen, and a hint of familiar fragrance met his nose: a warm citrusy scent.

 _Fenedhis_ , he could smell the sweetness of Nare’s shampoo. A spark of desire lit in his belly, and he forced himself not to react. He held his breath as he studied her phone screen, then nodded. “I see here where you have added more paint to transition the values rather than blending. That is very good.”

“Don’t be too impressed,” she said wryly. “This is the third version. The first two weren’t so great.”

“Which, again, is the purpose of doing such studies,” he reminded her. “You’re practicing: playing with the medium, growing accustomed to the feel of the brush in your fingers and the viscosity of the paints.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” she said softly. She nibbled her lip and studied her phone screen, and Solas’s gaze got stuck on her lips for a moment — lips that he was desperately missing, as though he hadn’t kissed her in his office just two days ago. 

She lifted her eyes to his face once more with a little smile. “You gave feedback, by the way.”

“Ah,” he said blankly. “I… I apologize. I didn’t even think about it.”

Her smile widened slightly. “Don’t apologize. Your feedback is always really helpful, professor.”

 _Professor._ Had she said that with the intent of provoking him, or had it slipped out? He couldn’t decide which was more likely, and he didn’t dare inspect her face to find the answer there.

Whether her words were intentional or not, their effect was the same: there was a distinct feeling of warmth swelling between his legs. Irritated with himself, he looked away from her and reached for a nearby platter of fresh Orlesian bread that Tamlen had brought. 

He placed a piece of bread on his plate and purposely met Dagna’s eye, and as he’d hoped, Dagna immediately pulled him into her conversation with Tamlen. “Solas, how much does someone have to contribute to an academic article before they can be listed as an author? Because Tamlen has really been helping me—”

Tamlen scratched his ear. “Dagna, you don’t have to—”

“Hush,” Dagna said cheerfully, and she turned her attention back to Solas. “He did a big chunk of the lit review for me. He adapted it from one of his assignments for Abelas’s class, actually! Can he be listed as one of the authors when I submit the article for publication?”

“If his contribution was significant enough, then yes,” Solas said. “If you show me the draft on Monday, I can provide a better answer.”

Dagna smiled triumphantly at Tamlen. “See, silly? It never hurts to ask.”

Tamlen gave her a boyish grin, and Solas pretended to be engaged in their conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Nare was talking now with Merrill and Abelas, and he was torn between two very opposing feelings: relief that she was otherwise engaged, and a petty sort of envy that he wasn’t the one who had her unequivocal attention. 

He exhaled slowly and nodded mindlessly at something Tamlen had said. Truthfully, he was finding this extremely difficult. He hated having to hide himself around Nare. He hated feeling like everything he said to her was a cover for five other things he really wanted to say, but couldn’t. Like every smile he gave her was a watered-down version of the way he really wanted to feast his eyes on her beauty, and every inch of space between their bodies was humming with a nearly-magnetic sort of tension that his hands were desperately longing to broach.

He toyed idly with the stem of his wineglass and smiled vacantly at Dagna and Tamlen. Then a loud voice across the table drew his attention. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He looked up. Felassan and Athera were laughing uproariously while Tamaris studied her mostly-empty plate in apparent dismay. 

She looked up, then grimaced when she realized everyone was looking at her. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“What happened?” Nare asked.

Tamaris shot her a resentful look. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

Nare widened her eyes. “What is?”

“Don’t give me the big baby blues,” Tamaris said bluntly. ”You got him to make vegan shepherd's pie, didn’t you?” She jerked her thumb at Felassan, who was grinning unrepentantly.

“Me?” Nare said. “I wouldn’t dare.” 

Solas smiled faintly. Her mischievous tone made it clear that she was, in fact, responsible. 

Felassan, meanwhile, was giving Nare a wounded look. “You’re letting me take the blame? I should fail your last assignment in my class for this.”

Athera woozily leaned toward him and Tamaris. “You can’t do that. It’s — _hic_ — nepotism.” Then she frowned. “Wait, no it’s not.”

“Rather the opposite, in fact,” Abelas said gently.

Athera smiled blearily and swayed toward him, and he gently took hold of her arm to help her keep her balance. Then Merrill spoke up. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Tamaris replied. “Nare and Felassan conspired against me to make me eat vegan food.”

Tamlen raised his eyebrows. “What’s the thing they made you eat?”

“The shepherd’s pie,” Tamaris said.

Tamlen blinked at his plate. “This is vegan? But it’s so good.”

“See?” Tamaris said accusingly to Felassan. “You tricked us.”

“So you admit that it’s good,” Felassan said smoothly.

Tamaris scoffed. “That’s not the point!”

“I think it might be, _avise,_ ” he said wryly.

She smacked his thigh. “Now who’s the disloyal one?”

He snickered, then bowed his head to her. “I apologize, Tamaris. I have a terrible weakness for a good bit of mischief. Just to be clear, Nare is fully and entirely to blame for this idea.”

Tamaris shot Nare an accusatory look. “So you _are_ behind this!”

Nare giggled. “Okay, fine, it was my idea. But it’s good for you. And for the environment.”

Tamaris scoffed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll deal with you later. Both of you.”

“After you finish eating your shepherd’s pie, I presume?” Felassan said cheekily.

Tamaris scoffed and picked up her fork. “You’re a fucking brat.”

Felassan tweaked her hair. “That’s my girl. Now eat up before it gets cold.”

Tamaris shot him a dirty look. Then her face melted into a smile, and she started laughing. 

Felassan laughed as well, and Solas shook his head in amusement before turning to Nare. “She dislikes vegan food, I presume?” he said quietly.

“She doesn’t dislike it once she tries it,” Nare said. “She’s just biased against it because she’s such a carnivore.”

“Is that difficult for you?” Solas asked. “Living with someone who eats a great deal of meat?”

Nare hummed thoughtfully as she chewed a little bite of bread. “Not really. I’m used to most people being meat-eaters. It’s just fun to pick on Tamaris about her eating habits.” She smiled mischievously. “She picks on me too, so it’s all fair.”

“I understand,” Solas said. Their dynamic was similar to the way he and Felassan teased each other at times. But there was something even more familiar — and familial — about Nare and Tamaris’s interactions: something particularly playful that likely stemmed from the fact that they and Athera had grown up together. No matter how close Solas was with Felassan and Abelas, the indefinable closeness of clan that Nare shared with Tamaris and Athera was a feeling that Solas had never really experienced.

Her expression softened like she knew what he was thinking, and once again, he had that painful feeling like the unspoken words between them were swelling like an overripe thunderhead. 

He gave her a tiny perfunctory smile and took a bite of food — of the vegan shepherd's pie, in fact. Then Nare spoke again. “I’ve never actually asked if you’re vegan or vegetarian.”

Her tone was casual and polite, and it was a perfectly polite question. But Solas knew the reason this had never come up before: they had had little opportunity to eat together, even during her visits to his apartment. Whenever they had eaten together, it was always small thrown-together snacks like toast or fruit — items they could eat quickly without wasting too much time on food rather than on enjoying each other’s company. 

He studied his plate sadly for a second. No matter how good this food was, he would trade it in an instant to taste Nare’s naked skin instead.

He looked at her. “I am neither vegan nor vegetarian, no. But I consume little dairy. And I rarely prepare red meat for myself.”

“I thought that was the case,” she said.

“How so?” he asked.

She shrugged and scooped up another bite of curry. “You just… seem like not much of a meat-eater.”

He watched glumly as she ate her curry. Her answer was so bland that it was obvious to Solas that she wasn’t really saying what she thought — which meant that her real thoughts were something she couldn’t share in present company. 

That awful feeling of longing swelled in behind his ribs. He wanted so badly to speak openly with her, to enjoy their intimate and familiar conversations that usually flowed so well, but he could barely say anything to her without worrying that what he said would be the wrong thing. He could barely stand to look at her smile, wanting only to feel the softness of her smiling lips against his own. With every minute of this damned party that ticked by, Solas couldn’t decide what he was finding more torturous: the unspoken things that were building unbearably between them, the inability to touch her in even a slightly affectionate way, or the unwelcome undercurrent of desire that pulsed distractingly in his blood at the sheer reality of her nearness. 

On Nare’s other side, Merrill addressed him. “Solas, can you pass me the bread?”

“Of course,” he said. He picked up the platter of bread, then stood up partway to hand it to her.

He accidentally knocked over Nare’s wineglass with his arm. The wine toppled onto the table and coursed toward her.

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he swore. He hastily set down the bread, then slapped his palm onto the table to stop the wine from spilling onto her dress. 

“Shit,” Nare blurted. “Solas, your hand—”

“It’s all right,” he said brusquely. “Merrill, can you—”

“I’ll grab some paper towel!” Merrill exclaimed, and she hurried to the kitchen. 

Solas glanced at Nare. “Give me your napkin.” 

She nodded and fumbled for the napkin on her lap, then placed it on his hand, and he hastily grabbed for it — half-grabbing her fingers in the process.

A spark of heat and nerves raced through his chest. Rattled, he carefully did _not_ look at her as he mopped at the table. “Did any of the wine spill on you?” he asked.

“N-no,” she said. “I’m — it’s fine. But your, um, your sleeve.”

“Pardon?” he said distractedly.

She pointed at his elbow. He glanced down, then wilted; he must have accidentally gotten his elbow in his plate while trying to clean up the wine he’d spilled. 

He sighed. Then Felassan called to him from across the table. “Solas, what’s happening over there? Are you drunk already?”

He shot Felassan a flat look. “Unfortunately, no. I have only myself to blame for this mess.” 

Merrill came back with a wad of paper towel, and he took it from her with a grateful nod. He continued to mop up the wine until the table was mostly clean, then sighed and glanced at Nare.

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him — _up_ at him. And then he realized how much he was looming over her as he tidied up the spill around her plate.

 _Damn it,_ he thought. He kept his expression cool as he stepped away from the table. “Excuse me,” he said to the table at large. “I have to clean up and change. I’ll be just a moment.”

“We’ll be here,” Felassan said lazily. “Working on this mountain of food.”

“It’s so good!” Athera slurred. “Everything’s so yummy, I really—” She broke off with a loud hiccup, then slapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh shit,” she squeaked.

The others laughed, and Abelas solicitously spooned another serving of rice onto her half-full plate. Solas smiled at her before glancing at Nare. “I’m sorry about your wine,” he said. “Please help yourself to more.”

“Okay,” she said softly. 

Solas nodded and stepped away from the table. He padded into the kitchen and washed his hands and wiped the worst of the curry from his sweater, then made his way to his bedroom, cursing himself all the while. 

He was a fool. An overconfident, cocky fool. He should never have agreed to host the start-of-year lab party. It was one thing to be with Nare in the office, but it was another thing entirely to be here in his home, where he and Nare had ravished each other multiple times in every room. How had he failed to realize that having Nare in his home, but not being able to _have_ her, would be this damned difficult?

Hosting this party had been bold — far too bold. He should have asked Felassan or Abelas to host it instead, or suggested that they celebrate at a restaurant this year instead of the usual potluck. It would have seemed an odd request, certainly, but it would have been far easier to come up with a reason for the odd request than to pretend he wasn’t in love with Nare. He had never felt such affinity and passion for any other woman he’d ever been with in the past, so how could he have possibly thought he could hide the depth of his feelings for an entire interminable night? 

_You may be a professor and an academic, but you have been unforgivably foolish tonight,_ he told himself harshly. He hadn’t said or done anything overtly familiar with Nare thus far, but his closeness to her while wiping the table could be easily misconstrued by someone who was looking carefully — and Felassan had been sitting right across the table. 

Solas sighed. He could only pray that Felassan had drunk enough of his own punch to blur his own perceptive vision for the night. 

Solas entered his bedroom and closed the door, then sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.  
For all that the students and even Abelas looked to him for guidance and wisdom, Solas knew the truth: when it came to serious matters of the heart, he was far from an expert. 

When it came to Nare and his longing for her, Solas was a complete and utter idiot. 

He rolled down his sleeves and pulled off his sweater, then draped it over the laundry basket to deal with the stain later. He started to roll the sleeves of his shirt back up, then paused and sighed; there was curry on the sleeve of his shirt as well. 

He slowly began unbuttoning the shirt, feeling somehow as though the infernal curry was his punishment for his own hubris. He removed the shirt and placed it on the laundry basket with his stained sweater, and he was selecting a new button-up shirt from his closet when he heard the sound of the bedroom door opening. 

Alarmed, he glanced at the door, and heart jammed itself in his throat.

It was Nare. She slipped into his bedroom and closed the door quietly, then leaned back against the door.

He stared at her. Her cerulean eyes were huge and her lips were enticingly rosy, and her expression looked like how he felt: hungry, heated, desperate. 

He swallowed hard. She was too beautiful, too tempting, and she shouldn’t be in here. 

He forced himself to face the closet once more. “Nare,” he said in the calmest tone he could manage. “You can’t be here.”

“I know,” she said breathlessly. “I just — I wanted to…” She trailed off.

Solas glanced at her again, and his heart quailed. She was gazing at him so pleadingly, her expression practically spilling over with longing and distress. She looked exactly like how she had on that day in his office after their first intimate phone call: that day when she’d acted entirely professional before confessing boldly that she wanted him. That day when he had planned to turn down her advances, then capitulated to her instead.

That day when he had finally, selfishly, given in to his desire for her and kissed her in his office for the first time. 

She took a deep breath and ducked her head. “I’m sorry,” she said in a tiny voice. “I know I shouldn’t — I’m stupid for coming here. I just couldn’t…” She dragged in another breath, then looked up at him, and his gut twisted; her eyes were shining. 

Her distress was unbearable. He strode over to her and cupped her face in his hands. “You are not stupid,” he murmured. “This is not your fault. None of this is your fault.” It wasn’t her fault that they were stuck in this terrible and painful limbo of longing and desire. 

It was Solas’s fault. _He_ was her supervisor. He had known all along that this was wrong, that this would be trouble, and he had allowed it to happen anyway.

Nare gazed desperately at him. “This is really hard,” she whispered shakily. 

“I know,” he whispered. He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs, then cradled her neck tenderly in his palms. “I… Nare, please believe me, I know.” 

She nodded and gulped in a breath. Her hands were on his waist now, her fingers sliding over his abs and up along his ribs, and the touch of her hands on his skin was… it was everything, everything he had been missing all night, the delicacy of her fingers and the intimacy of her palms on his skin… 

He kissed her. Gently, carefully, he coaxed her lips apart with his own, then sealed his mouth hungrily over hers. She moaned and lifted herself onto her toes to meet him, and then her arms were sliding around him and her fingers were pressing into his back and pulling him closer as she pressed her hip against his swollen groin… 

_Fenedhis,_ her hip, her mouth, her hands on his body — he wanted her so fiercely and terribly that it was unbearable. He greedily licked her tongue, then broke their kiss and trailed his fingers over the column of her neck — her lovely slender neck that was framed by a few wavy tendrils of her fiery red hair. 

Unable to resist, he leaned in and tasted her neck with his lips, and she arched toward him with a tiny moan. “Solas…” 

He leaned away and looked her in the eye. “What excuse did you give for your absence from the table?” he whispered.

“I got wine on my skirt,” she panted. 

He lifted his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Did you?”

“Just a bit,” she said. She dropped her eyes to her skirt, and Solas looked down as well. 

There was indeed a small wine stain on her skirt. He winced. “That is my fault as well. I am so sorry–”

She cut him off. “No no, it wasn't your fault. It was — seriously, it wasn’t your fault.”

He looked at her quizzically. “I spilled the wine. It was certainly my fault.”

She made a little face, and Solas suddenly understood. He lifted an eyebrow. “Did you get this wine on your skirt on purpose?”

She nodded. “I had to see you.”

He gazed at her with a mixture of adoration and exasperation, and she dropped his gaze. “I — I know I’m being ridiculous. I shouldn’t have, but I — um, I turned on the bathroom light and closed the door so people will think I’m in there if they come looking…?”

He smiled slowly at her, impressed and amused by her forethought. Even when she was desperate, she’d taken the time to think about how to mitigate the danger for them both. 

Not that the risk was eliminated. All that needed to happen was for someone to knock on the bathroom door to realize Nare wasn’t in there. If anything, the fact that he was at all impressed by her insufficient forethought just went to show how stupid and cocky _he_ was being. 

Unfortunately, his stupid and cocky side seemed to have taken control of his mouth. “I see,” he said. “In that case, perhaps I should have a closer look at this wine stain.” 

Her eyes went even wider. “Huh?”

He knelt at her feet and curved his palms over her thighs, and she gasped and leaned back against the door. “Solas,” she mewled. 

He gave her a severe look. “You must be silent, Nare,” he whispered. He slid his hands up her thighs, lifting her skirt in the process.

He held up her skirt so he could admire her lacy panties and the telltale spot of dampness between her legs, then leaned in and placed a tiny kiss on her thigh, and she clenched her fingers on his shoulders. “I thought you were going to look at the wine stain,” she whimpered.

He leaned away and raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking back to your professor?” he whispered.

She burst out a breathless little laugh, then slapped her palm over her mouth to muffle herself and shook her head.

“Good girl,” he murmured. Then he brushed his nose over her panties and inhaled slowly. 

Ah, the raw and musky scent of her desire… _This_ was what he’d been wanting to taste all evening, the only thing worth devouring in his entire apartment and the most forbidden thing of all. But in this stupid, foolish, mindless moment, Solas didn’t care how forbidden she was. All he cared about was that she was here in his bedroom, his Nare, the woman he loved and lusted for and wanted more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life… 

He kissed her through her panties, and she jolted silently toward him. Satisfied that he was following his instructions for silence, he kissed her again, then traced his tongue over the damp spot on the satin.

She curled her hips toward him, and he continued to lick her through her panties in an intentional tease. When she was writhing silently against the door, he carefully pulled the crotch of her panties aside.

 _Fenedhis,_ she was dripping wet. Her clit was a swollen little nub, glazed with her liquid desire and begging for his attention, and Solas couldn’t resist.

He pressed his lips against her sex and laved her clit gently with his tongue, and she let out a tiny sob. “Solas…”

He lifted his mouth and gave her another stern look. “Silence, Nare,” he whispered. “You must be completely silent.”

She nodded and pressed her fist to her mouth, and Solas hungrily pressed his lips to her sex once more. This was foolish and careless and he knew it, but she tasted so delicious and her fingers gripping his shoulder felt so right, and in this moment, Solas didn’t care how stupid this was. 

In this moment, with Nare writhing with pleasure against his tongue, Solas didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOLAS PLEASE. 😩😩💦💦💦 I'm sorry I couldn't give the smut warning, but SURPRISE!! 😂
> 
> More tomorrow!!
> 
> You can find us on Tumblr! [I am here,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [Elbenherz is here!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)


	38. Stubborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny little bit of backtracking in time!

###  ATHERA 

This party was so nice. It was such a nice party. Athera was having such a nice time and all of the food was so tasty, and she couldn’t quite keep track of what everyone was talking about, but they were all talking and laughing — even Tamaris was laughing! Tamaris was having a good time, and she looked so cute with Felassan. They were so cute.

She turned to Abelas to tell him how cute Felassan and Tamaris were, then paused. Oh gods, _he_ was the cute one. He was carefully cutting up a piece of roasted chicken with a little frown on his face, like he was concentrating super hard on cutting the chicken into even pieces. 

He met her eye, then placed the sliced chicken on her plate. “Eat this,” he said.

She beamed at him. He was so sweet. So thoughtful and handsome and big and… and handsome. She couldn’t believe she’d ever thought he was an ass. He wasn’t an ass at all! He was quiet sometimes, and he was stubborn sometimes, but so was she. 

She giggled and tapped his hand. “You think I’m stubborn.”

He huffed. “You can indeed be stubborn at times.” 

“So are you,” she said. “I like it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You like that I am stubborn?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I see,” he said slowly.

He looked so bemused that she laughed. “I mean that I like that, like, you hold your ground. And then you give in.”

His eyebrows creased with confusion. “I hold my ground and then I give in?”

She blurted another little laugh, then patted her cheeks. Why was it so warm in Solas’s apartment? Maybe he could turn the heat down for her. “I just mean… you’re not _too_ stubborn. You’re just stubborn enough.”

“Stubborn enough for what?” he said.

“Stubborn enough to be strong, but not so stubborn that you’re not soft,” she said. Then she frowned. “Am I making sense? I don’t think I — _hiccup_ — am making sense.”

“I believe there is sense in your words, but it is buried by the alcohol,” Abelas said.

She laughed brightly at his bluntness, then studied him with a fuzzy sort of fondness. “Aw. I’m drunk.”

He smiled faintly at her. “I know, Athera. Eat some more of your supper now.”

He was so handsome when he smiled. Did he know how handsome he was when he smiled? She didn’t think he was aware.

She opened her mouth to tell him how handsome he was. “Abelas,” she said, “I’m embarrassed.”

“Do not be embarrassed,” he said. “This is not your fault.” He shot a resentful look at Felassan.

Athera frowned blearily. Then she realized why Abelas was frowning. “D’you think it’s Felassan’s fault I’m drunk?” she asked.

Abelas clicked his tongue. “He mixed that blasted punch.”

Athera patted his arm. “No, nonono. It’s not his fault.”

Abelas lifted an eyebrow. “You were prepared to blame him earlier.”

“I was being silly,” Athera insisted. “Nobody’s fault. It was just a funny accident.” She snorted a laugh. “Like something in a Hercinian drama. Have I ever told you that I love Hercinian dramas? I love them sooo much.”

“You have mentioned that, yes,” Abelas said. He tapped her plate. “Please, Athera, eat something.”

She _tsk_ ed. “Being such a bossyboots. But fine, since you asked nicely.” She picked up her fork, then began to eat, feeding herself very carefully so she wouldn’t poke herself with her fork.

The food was so good. Everyone had done such a good job with cooking and making everything! Athera wanted to tell everyone how good the food was, but she was too busy eating to talk. 

Abelas placed another piece of chicken on her plate. Then there was a clatter of glass and cutlery from across the table. 

Athera looked up from her plate. Solas was on his feet and mopping up some wine that had spilled near Nare’s plate. 

He looked up with a frown. “Merrill, can you—”

“I’ll grab some paper towel,” Merrill said, and she ran to the kitchen. 

“Uh-oh,” Athera said blearily. She looked at Abelas. “What happened?”

“An accidental spill,” Abelas said. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

Felassan tutted. “Speak for yourself. He spilled a nearly-full glass of Arlathani port.”

Abelas shot him an annoyed look. “Is it your personal goal tonight for everyone to become inebriated beyond redemption?”

“Not in so many words,” Felassan said with a grin. “But now that you put it so colourfully…”

Tamaris chuckled, and Felassan winked at her before looking over at Solas. “Solas, what’s happening over there? Are you drunk already?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Solas said. “I have only myself to blame for this mess.” He took the paper towel that Merrill offered him, and Athera looked up Abelas once more.

“D’you think I’m beyond redemption?” she said. Then she paused. Was that _her_ talking that sounded so slurred? Gods, maybe she _was_ beyond redemption.

He raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, do you think I am beyond redemption?” she said carefully. If she talked more clearly, then maybe Abelas wouldn’t realize just how drunk she was, even if the room was spinning. 

“No, not at all,” he said. “Why — where did you get such an idea?”

“From you,” Felassan said. “You basically just told her she’s drunk beyond redemption.”

“I did not,” Abelas said.

“You kind of did,” Tamaris said.

Abelas’s eyes widened. “I — no.” He looked at Athera. “That is not what I meant.”

“Okay,” she said easily. “I believe you. You have an honest face.”

Felassan laughed. “You weren’t kidding when you said you were a cheap drunk.”

“I know, right?” she said brightly. “I—” She hiccuped, then blinked. Was that her? That was a huge hiccup. How embarrassing.

Tamaris squeezed her arm. “Hey, slow down,” she murmured. “Don’t eat so much. You don’t want to get sick.”

“Okay,” Athera said obediently. “Did you try the chicken that Dagna made? It’s really good.”

“I did,” Tamaris said. “You asked me that already.” 

“Oh fuck, did I?” Athera said. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to swear.”

Tamaris grinned. Then Solas straightened up. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to clean up and change. I’ll be just a moment.”

“We’ll be here,” Felassan replied. “Working on this mountain of food.”

Athera nodded enthusiastically. “It’s so good! Everything’s so yummy, I really—” She hiccuped loudly, then slapped her hands over her mouth. 

“Oh shit,” she squeaked. 

Everyone laughed, and Athera could feel her face going hot. She was being so loud and ridiculous. What was everyone going to think of her on Monday?

The thought dimmed her sense of warm wellbeing, and her stomach started to twist with nerves. She honestly hadn’t meant to get so drunk at a work party. This was… oh no, this was terrible, wasn’t it? It wasn’t fun and nice at all. It was terrible.

Abelas spooned another serving of rice onto her plate. Embarrassed and a little self-conscious now, she ducked her head and occupied herself with eating. 

The more she ate, though, the worse she started to feel. She couldn’t believe she was being so silly at a work party. What if everyone thought she was unprofessional? She didn’t want everyone to be thinking about her silliness when they were at work together. She finally had the best job ever, the best job that she loved so much with people that she loved working with, including Abelas. 

Oh gods, Abelas. They had only just started dating this week — not even dating really, since they hadn’t had their first date yet, but she liked him so much. So, _so_ much. Like, she really really liked him a lot, and now she was acting so stupid in front of him, and he was probably going to regret telling her that he liked her since she was acting like such a stupid idiot. 

_Oh no,_ she thought miserably. What if Abelas didn’t want to date her anymore? What if he started thinking that she was just a silly juvenile kid after all? 

Her guts twisted terribly at the thought, and she shovelled another bite of rice into her mouth to try and quell the fear. By the time her plate was empty, though, her gut was roiling more than ever.

And then, with a breathtaking rush of horror, she realized that the roiling in her stomach wasn’t fear or anxiety.

_Oh fuck,_ she thought. _I’m going to be sick._

She pushed herself upright, and the ground lurched under her feet. Half a second later, Abelas was on his feet and holding her waist and arm.

“Athera,” he said sharply. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said faintly. “I-I’m just… I have to go to the washroom.” 

“Can you walk?” he asked. “Allow me to help you—”

“No,” she said sharply.

He lifted his eyebrows but didn’t let her go, and Athera inhaled slowly through her mouth so she didn’t have to smell the food on the table. _Ugh, food,_ she thought. Why did there have to be so much food here? Food was the worst. She never wanted to look at any food ever again. 

She swallowed her nausea and pushed feebly at Abelas’s hands. “Stay here, okay?” she said. “Don’t come with me.” She didn’t want him to see her like this.

His face creased with worry, but Tamaris stood up. “Abelas, it’s okay,” she said. “You can let her go.” She looked at Athera and raised her eyebrows. “You want me to come with you?”

Athera shook her head, grateful to Tamaris for helping her save face in front of Abelas. “I’m okay,” she said. 

Tamaris nodded and sat down. “I’ll check on you in a few minutes.” 

Athera nodded and stumbled away. Where the fuck was the bathroom again? 

She weaved her way toward the foyer, trying to keep her steps as even as possible so Abelas wouldn’t see how much she was struggling, but it was hard to walk straight when the ground was wavering beneath her and the room was spinning. Ugh, she felt so sick. She shouldn’t have eaten this much. She always got sick when she ate while drinking. Why hadn’t she just stopped fucking eating?

Her heart was pounding in her ears, an anxious reminder that she might throw up any second. Desperate now, she made her way past the kitchen toward the far hallway of Solas’s apartment. Someone had said there was a bathroom at that end, she thought, but all she saw were three closed doors. 

She stumbled forth and opened the first door. No luck; it was just Solas’s art studio. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. _Fuck fuck._ Her stomach felt like it was boiling. If she didn’t find a bathroom in the next thirty seconds, she was going to hurl on the floor. 

She gazed blearily toward the end of the hall. Only two rooms left. A fifty-fifty chance of opening the right one. That was fair odds, right? She could do this. 

She took another slow breath through her mouth, then stumbled toward the door at the end of the hall. _Please, Creators and spirits, let this be a bathroom,_ she thought, and she reached for the doorknob.

###  NARE 

Solas gripped Nare’s thigh and licked her pussy, and she bit the back of her hand to stifle the moans that were gathering at the back of her throat. She was lightheaded with pleasure, dizzy with disbelief and desire, and the fact that they could be found out at any second was swiftly receding to the back of her mind. With every caress of Solas’s lips, every heated kiss he placed between her legs and every stroke of his tongue over her clit, the risk of their discovery fell further and further from her mind, leaving only the pleasure of his mouth to preoccupy her.

He lapped at her clit and slid the pad of his thumb along the length of her folds, and she gasped into the back of her hand and thrust her hips toward him. He slipped his fingers between her legs and stroked her wetness, and just when Nare was considering begging him for more, he slid one finger inside of her. 

_Fuck,_ she thought deliriously. Fuck, _fuck,_ his perfect elegant finger inside of her, oh gods, it felt so good… 

He slipped a second finger inside of her and licked her clit, and she sobbed silently into the back of her hand before biting her knuckles hard. He was stroking her from the inside now as his lips teased her pussy, and the curl of his fingers was bringing her swiftly toward her climax.

She held her breath and rocked her hips toward his fingers and his mouth. It felt so good, so fucking good, oh gods, _Solas_ —

The doorknob rattled.

Nare froze, her pleasure instantly replaced by panic. Solas’s fingers left her body, and he swiftly stood and placed his finger to his lips to indicate that she should stay silent.

She nodded, and Solas spoke in a calm voice. “This is my bedroom,” he said. “Who is it?”

“Shit,” Athera whimpered from outside the door. “Sorry, Solas. I’m looking for, um… where’s th’washroom?”

Nare raised her eyebrows in worry. Athera didn’t sound very well. 

Solas’s eyebrows creased as well, and he took a small step closer to the door. “It is to your right,” he told Athera through the door. 

“That door’s closed,” Athera lamented. 

“It is unlocked,” Solas said. “You can go inside.” 

“‘Kay,” Athera said. Nare heard the bathroom door opening and closing, and a moment later, she heard the faint sound of Athera vomiting. 

She winced. “Shit. I should check on her. She probably ate too much.”

“Of course,” Solas said. 

Nare awkwardly rearranged her panties and her skirt, then patted her hair self-consciously. “Do I look okay?” she whispered. “Not too dishevelled?”

“You look beautiful,” he said softly. 

She looked at him, and her heart twisted wistfully. He was gazing at her with that perfect look of tenderness, the one she’d been longing for since the start of the night and been missing more with every passing minute, and the thought of acting all professional again made her want to scream.

They had to act professional, though. There was no choice. They’d already taken too many risks by being in Solas’s bedroom together — no, that wasn’t fair, she thought with a pang of guilt. _She’d_ forced him to take a risk by cornering him in his bedroom. He’d been acting so professional all night, and she’d had to ruin it by following him to his room like a stupid lovesick teenager. Frankly, they were lucky that it was a drunken Athera who had interrupted them rather than someone who was more… on the ball. 

She dropped Solas’s gaze. “I’m sorry about this. I didn’t mean to — I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

He reached out and tipped her chin up. “Do not be sorry,” he told her softly. “If anyone should apologize, it is me.”

She frowned at the melancholy in his face, but before she could reassure him, he was moving back toward the closet. “Go ahead and check on Athera,” he told her quietly. “I will follow you.”

She nodded and reached for the doorknob, then hesitated. He was putting on a clean button-up shirt, and as she watched his precious bare skin disappearing beneath the professional mask of his clothes, something reckless and desperate made her open her mouth. 

“Can I stay and help you clean up at the end of the night?” she asked.

He looked at her, and the apology in his face made her heart hurt. “I don’t think that would be wise,” he said softly.

“Please?” she begged. 

His eyebrows twisted with uncertainty. Nare took a small step toward him, so desperate now that she couldn’t even muster any pride. “You can act like you don’t need my help, but I’ll insist on staying,” she said in a rush. “I don’t care if everyone thinks I have a crush on you. You can make it seem like you’re humouring me, I don’t care, but please, can I stay? Just for a little bit?”

He sighed and ran his hand over his scalp, and Nare waited breathlessly for his reply. Then, to her vast relief, he nodded. “All right. But I will have to refuse you at first,” he warned her. 

She beamed at him. “That’s okay,” she whispered. She didn’t mind if he had to refuse her at first, as long as they could be together later, even for just a little while. Feeling much happier now, she reached for the doorknob again.

“Wait,” Solas whispered. He strode over to her, and Nare’s heart pounded. Was he going to kiss her once more?

He didn’t kiss her; instead, he opened the door and peered into the hallway, then nodded and looked down at her. “It is clear,” he murmured. “Go quickly, Nare.”

“Yes, professor,” she whispered. 

He grinned. “ _Veraisa,_ ” he murmured.

Nare grinned back at him, then slipped out of his bedroom. He closed the door behind her, and she took a second to wrestle the stupid smile off of her face.

_Be cool,_ she told herself. _No one knows what you and Solas were doing, and you have to keep it that way for a few more hours._ Unlike her pep talk from the start of the night, however, this time she had the reassurance of Solas’s private attention to keep her spirits up. 

Feeling more cheerful than she had all night, Nare knocked on the bathroom door.

###  ATHERA 

Someone was knocking on the bathroom door.

Athera didn’t reply. She felt too shitty to reply. Hell, she felt too shitty to even stand up from her huddled pose by the toilet. Her throat was burning with bile and her mouth tasted like shit, and even though her stomach felt way better — probably because it was empty — her head was still spinning, and she couldn’t be entirely sure that she wasn’t going to barf again.

The knock came again, followed by a voice. “Athera?”

It was Nare. Athera took a deep breath, then mustered the strength to reply. “Come in.”

She heard the door opening and closing. Then Nare was kneeling beside her. “Hey there,” she crooned. 

Athera lifted her heavy head and gave Nare a pitiful look. “I drank and ate too much.”

“I know, _lethallan_ ,” Nare said softly. She rubbed Athera’s shoulder. “Can I get you some water?”

“Please,” Athera whimpered. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” Nare said. She stood up and flitted away, and Athera closed her eyes and rested her head on her arm. 

The spinning of the room actually felt kind of nice now, actually. It was a slow and soothing spin, almost like being in a car or something. She smiled to herself and sighed as she waited for Nare to come back. 

“Hey,” Tamaris said quietly. 

Athera opened her eyes to find Nare and Tamaris beside her. Tamaris was smiling faintly and Nare was holding a glass of water, and they were both so pretty — the prettiest friends in the world. Athera was so happy to see them. 

She _wasn’t_ happy to see Solas standing at the door, however. 

“Solas, go away,” she whimpered. “Don’t look at me.” She tried to close the toilet lid so he wouldn’t see her vomit. 

Tamaris helped her to flush the toilet, and Solas took a step back. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said. “I heard you being… ill. Do you need anything?”

“We’ve got it,” Nare said. “Thank you, though.” She smiled at Solas, and he nodded before leaving the bathroom.

Athera groaned and leaned her forehead on the cool lid of the toilet. “Fuck,” she whimpered. “He’s going to think I’m a total spaz now.”

“Ah, you’re fine,” Tamaris said. She patted Athera’s shoulder and sat comfortably beside the toilet. “We were starting to wonder where the fuck you’d all gotten off to.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nare said wryly. “I had to take off my dress to find the cleaning instructions on the tag. This thing is actually dry-clean only, so I couldn’t even try to get the wine stain out.”

Athera lifted her head and looked at Nare in horror. “Wait. Did I burst in on you while you were naked in here?” She didn’t remember seeing Nare in here when she’d first come in, but she’d been so desperate to puke. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed that Nare was here.

Nare’s eyebrows rose. “I… uh, no, my dress was back on by then. But, um, yeah, you kind of burst in on me.”

“Oh gods,” Athera whined. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry. You guys, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the party. Is everyone so embarrassed by me?”

Tamaris chuckled. “Honestly, no one gives a fuck. They feel bad that you’re sick, but no one thinks you’re a spaz.”

Her words were no comfort. “They all know I’m sick?” Athera asked, aghast.

“Yeah,” Tamaris said. “I mean, you made it pretty obvious that you were going to be sick.” 

Nare winced. “I might have also said that you were sick when I went to get this water. Which you should drink, by the way.” She offered Athera the glass, but Athera didn’t take it. 

“Does Abelas know I’m sick?” she whispered.

Tamaris’s smile became a grimace. “Uh, yeah. He’s kind of worried.”

“He wants to take you home,” Nare said gently. 

Athera stared at them. “He thinks I’m such a mess that he wants to take me home?”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed. “No, you dummy. He’s so worried about you that he wants to take you home.” She snickered. “He’s a piece of work, hey? The way he’s fussing, it’s like he thinks you’re going to get even drunker just by being in the presence of alcohol.”

Athera groaned and buried her face in her arms. “Oh gods. He’s such a sweet nerd. I don’t deserve him.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh, and Nare rubbed Athera’s back. “Don’t be silly,” she said soothingly. “He’s lucky to have you. But, um, he might have a good point. Maybe you should go home.”

“I know,” she whimpered. “But I don’t want _Abelas_ to take me home.” The thought of being a gross drunken mess in Abelas’s car was enough to give her the horrors.

“Do you want us to take you home, then?” Tamaris said. 

“No,” Athera mumbled. 

Nare’s hand went still on her back. “So… do you want to sit here in the bathroom until it’s time to go home, then?”

Tamaris snorted in amusement, and Athera shot them both a baleful look. “No. I want to teleport home and pretend this night never ever happened.”

“Okay,” Tamaris said. “Give us like fifty years and we’ll bring you a teleportation machine. Any colour preference?”

Nare laughed, and Athera wrinkled her nose and finally took the glass of water. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Felassan,” she said accusingly to Tamaris. “You sound like him.”

Tamaris chuckled. “Ah, fuck you.”

Nare grinned at her. “Seriously, how drunk are _you?_ ”

“Pretty drunk,” Tamaris said easily. “But not as much as killer here.” She jerked her chin at Athera.

“Shut up, you,” Athera said, but with no real ire. Tamaris was right, after all. 

Tamaris and Nare laughed. Athera smiled weakly at them, then gratefully sipped her water and marvelled at how sweet and fresh it tasted.

Tamaris stretched her legs out comfortably. “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’d rather not sit on the fucking floor for the next hour. So what do you want to do?” She tilted her head at Athera. “Do you feel well enough to stay, or would you rather go home?”

Athera hesitated. In truth, she wanted to go home rather than risk making a bigger fool of herself than she’d already done. But she didn’t want to ruin the party for the girls, especially since Tamaris seemed to be having such a nice time. But she also didn’t want Abelas to see what a hot mess she was.

She slowly drank her glass of water. When the water was gone, she sighed. “I want to go home,” she admitted. “But I don’t want to put anyone out. I’ll just get an Uber.”

“Not fucking happening,” Tamaris said.

“No way,” Nare said at the same time. “One of us is coming with you.”

Athera wilted. “You guys are being silly. I don’t need to be looked after.”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow, and Athera frowned at her. “I’m a grown woman. I feel way better now. I can get home by myself.”

“No,” Tamaris said in a hard voice. “Someone’s coming home with you. You can pick who, but you’re not leaving alone.” She stood up and offered Athera her hand.

Athera _tsk_ ed and allowed Tamaris to help her up. “You’re a real mean jerk sometimes, you know that?”

“Yep,” Tamaris said, and she led the way out of the bathroom. “So who’s coming home with you? Me or Nare or Abelas?”

She pursed her lips as she followed Nare and Tamaris back to the main area of Solas’s apartment. They stepped back into the main room, and Athera was dismayed to see that dinner was over. Everyone was chatting in the living room, and they looked up when she and the girls came in. 

Abelas rose from the couch and strode over to her. “Are you all right?” he demanded. He gently squeezed her shoulders and inspected her face. “Do you still feel ill?”

She dropped his gaze, wishing he wouldn’t look at her so closely when she knew she must look like shit. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m, um…” She wished she could tell him she wasn't drunk anymore, but with the way the room was still spinning, she knew that would be a lie. 

“I’m gonna go home,” she mumbled. “But—”

“I will drive you,” he said immediately. 

She shook her head. “No no, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to take an Uber.”

“No you’re not,” Nare and Tamaris said together. 

Athera scowled at them. “Yes I am,” she said loudly. “And you can’t stop me.”

Tamaris elbowed Nare. “And you said _I’m_ an angry drunk.”

Athera folded her arms obstinately. Then Abelas took a step closer to her. “You are being stubborn,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him. “What?”

“You are being stubborn,” he repeated. 

“I am not,” she retorted. 

“You are,” he said.

“I am not!” she snapped. She waved irritably at Nare and Athera. “They’re being annoying!”

“They are concerned for your safety, as am I,” Abelas said. “I would ask that you consider our concerns in your decision about how you will be getting home.”

A pang of guilt dimmed her irritation. She studied his stern expression, and her guilt only grew stronger. Oh gods, she’d really had him worried, hadn’t she? 

“Let him drive you home,” Felassan called from the living room. “He drives so slowly that you’ll be able to take a nice nap on the way.”

Abelas pursed his lips, but Tamaris laughed, and that was what clinched Athera’s decision. Tamaris was actually having fun at the party, and Athera didn’t want to take her away from that. And it didn’t even look like Nare had had the chance to have a drink yet. 

Nare raised her eyebrows. “Are we heading home, then?”

Athera shook her head and dropped her gaze. “No, you guys stay. I’ll go home with Abelas.” She shot him a sheepish look. “If you’ll drive me, of course. You, um, don’t have to…”

His shoulders relaxed visibly. “I am pleased to drive you home. Let’s go.” 

Defeated, she allowed him to usher her to the door, and she didn’t know whether to be flattered or terribly embarrassed when the rest of the lab followed them. 

“Make sure you have bacon and buttered toast in the morning!” Merrill said. “That always makes me feel better.”

Tamlen piped up. “You should have a beer in the morning.”

“A beer in the morning?” Dagna said incredulously. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It works for me,” Tamlen said.

Dagna and Merrill scoffed and started picking on him. Then Felassan edged over to her. “Athera, all jokes notwithstanding, I am sorry about the punch,” he said quietly. “The others are used to it, so I didn’t think to label it…”

She waved him off. “Don’t be sorry. It’s honestly not your fault. It’s… I was careless and dumb.” And this really was the worst part of all of this: Athera had only herself to blame for how sick she’d gotten.

She’d made a total idiot of herself at a professional party, and it was entirely her fault. 

Ashamed, she kept her eyes on the floor as Abelas helped her into her coat. Then Tamaris squeezed her arm. “Call me if you want us to come home, okay? Call me or Nare or Felassan, we’ll come right away.”

“Okay,” Athera mumbled. She’d be doing no such thing, though. She’d already been enough of a pain in the ass for one night. 

Solas was the last one to bid her goodbye. “Get some rest,” he said gently. “And thank you for all of your assistance with setting up. You were exceedingly helpful, as always.”

She managed a weak smile, more humiliated than soothed by his praise. Then she and Abelas finally left Solas’s apartment. 

Abelas was silent as they made their way to the elevator, but Athera didn’t have the energy to make conversation as she usually would. By the time they were approaching his car, however, the silence was so heavy and tense that she almost couldn’t stand it. 

He opened the passenger door for her and offered her his hand, and she gingerly took his hand to get inside. “Thanks,” she said softly. 

“You are welcome,” he said. He carefully closed the door, and Athera sighed. He thought she was an irresponsible idiot, didn’t he? That had to be why he was being even quieter than usual. And Athera couldn’t prove him wrong.

He got into the driver’s seat and started the car without saying a word. Feeling utterly miserable now, Athera leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. 

The window was soothingly cool against her forehead, and the soft classical music from Abelas’s stereo was soothing too. In spite of her misery and her humiliation, Athera soon fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll give you guys some time to digest now! More later this week. 😊
> 
> Come hang out with us on Tumblr [here](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [here!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xo


	39. Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today: some intrigue, some gwent lessons, and some Felamaris smut ~~that I honestly didn’t plan for but it happened anyway.~~ I HAVE +1000 HORNY ENERGY FOR FELASSAN and you guys just have to put up with me. #SorryNotSorry #IDoWhatIWant
> 
> Another seating arrangement pic! This time for [gwent in Solas's living room.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/697219319255400469/804852524254625862/image0.jpg)

###  FELASSAN 

Felassan raised an eyebrow at Solas. “I know what you’re doing, you know.”

“Do you?” Solas said mildly.

“I do,” Felassan said. “You’re not even trying to hide it.”

“Then you should be able to stop it,” Solas replied.

Felassan sighed, then threw down his last gwent card. “No, I know when I’ve been bested.”

“A dignified defeat,” Solas said. “I respect that.” He placed a spy card on Felassan’s side of the ‘board’ – also known as the living room floor – then selected two new cards from his own deck, thereby giving himself two more cards to play, compared to Felassan’s none.

Merrill and Dagna broke out cheering and clapping for Solas, and Tamlen groaned and flopped back on the couch. “Aw, not again…”

Felassan shot him a smile. “Your loyalty is appreciated but misplaced, my friend. I told you not to bet on me.”

Solas chuckled and sat back on the couch. “Hope springs eternal, it seems.”

Tamaris huffed. “You’re cocky.”

“Not at all,” Solas said. “My confidence is proportionate to my win record.” He turned to Merrill, who was perched on the arm of Dagna’s armchair. “You have been keeping track, I believe?”

Merrill’s eyes widened. “Oh! Well, you see, I-I might have — _hic!_ — stopped keeping track a few rounds ago…”

Felassan shook his head ruefully. “Merrill, you offered to scorekeep.”

“I know, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed. “It’s Dagna’s fault. She brought me more punch.” She lifted her half-empty glass.

Dagna tutted. “That’s the last time I do you any favours,” she said. Then she and Merrill dissolved into giggles.

“You’re in luck,” Nare said, and she waved her phone. “I’ve been keeping track.”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know how to play.”

“Hey, I’m learning,” Nare retorted. “Solas told me how it works. Besides,” she said with a smile, “if I can’t follow, you guys keep making a big deal out of whoever wins.”

Tamaris snorted. “That’s true. These guys make every round sound like someone won the fucking lottery.” She waved lazily at Dagna, Tamlen and Merrill, then stretched out on the floor beside Felassan and draped her torso across his lap like a cat. 

He smirked, charmed by how shamelessly comfortable she was making herself on Solas’s floor. Tamlen, meanwhile, was struggling to sit up on the couch. “Let me see?” he said to Nare, who was sitting on the floor at the foot of the couch.

She held up her phone so he could see it, and he peered blearily at the screen before flopping back with a sigh. “Solas won every round so far. That’s no fun.”

“I apologize for spoiling your tournament,” Solas said with a faint smile. “Perhaps I’ll retire my deck for now and hand the reins to someone else.”

Merrill clasped her hands together. “Yes, someone else should play now!” 

“Would you like to play?” Felassan asked.

She shook her head. “Oh no, I’m far too tipsy.”

Felassan raised his eyebrows at the others. “Dagna? Tamlen?”

“I’ll play,” Tamaris said.

He grinned down at her. “Feeling confident now, hm?”

“Blame the punch,” she said. She lifted herself off of his lap and looked at the others. “Who wants to play me?”

“I will,” Nare said.

A playful ‘oooh’ went up from the others, and Felassan chuckled. “Now this is sure to be an entertaining disaster.”

Tamaris smirked at him. “Not if you help me.”

Nare laughed. “What! That’s not fair!”

Felassan grinned and bowed his head to Tamaris. “It would be my pleasure to help you, _avise_.”

Nare scoffed. “Okay, fine then.” She looked up at Solas, who was lounging back on the couch with a half-finished glass of port in his hand. “Would _you_ help me?”

Another, louder ‘oooh’ went up from Tamlen, Dagna and Merrill. Nare grinned at them, and Solas huffed in amusement and rubbed his chin. “I fail to see how this is any different than Felassan and I playing against each other.”

“We’ll only be allowed to ask for help if we’re really stuck,” Nare said.

Solas looked askance at Tamaris. “Is this acceptable to you?”

“Sure,” Tamaris said. “I’ll only ask for help if I’m on the verge of rage-quitting.”

Felassan chuckled. “So you’ll be asking for help by the third turn, then.”

She _tsk_ ed and flicked his knee. “Shut the fuck up.”

He pulled a mock sad face. “Is that any way to talk to the man who will be helping you to win?”

“We will see about that,” Solas said.

Dagna and Merrill ‘oooh’ed again, then broke out into drunken laughter, and Felassan grinned at them before looking at Tamaris once more. “Which deck are you going to be playing?”

“I’ll be nice and let Nare pick first,” she said.

Nare laughed. “Ooh, you’re asking for it. I’ll play…” She hesitated and glanced at Solas. 

“Trust your judgment,” Solas said.

A tiny smile curled her lips. Then she looked at Tamlen. “Scoia’tael for me.”

Tamaris gestured to Tamlen. “Monster deck for me.”

Felassan rubbed his hands together. “Versatility against brute force. This should be interesting.”

“Hey, watch who you’re calling a brute,” Tamaris said with a grin. Her face soon settled into an expression of focus as she chose her cards, however, and Felassan lazily stretched his legs out as he waited for Tamaris and Nare to get ready. 

Nare was sitting beside Solas on the couch now, and he was talking quietly to her as they shuffled through her deck. Tamlen was tidying the remaining two decks while Dagna and Merrill chatted together quietly, and Felassan listened to them with half an ear while he watched Tamaris poring through the monster deck. 

She was pouting slightly like she did when she was really focused on something, and Felassan studied her fondly. He knew that one reason she was so focused was that she was half-drunk — not that that was a bad thing. Her smiles were more languid and her body language more loose thanks to the booze, and Felassan was enjoying watching her far too much.

She looked up from the deck, then lifted her eyebrows. “What?”

“You’re exquisite,” he said quietly.

Her pout lifted into a beautiful smile. “You’re drunk.”

“So are you,” he said.

She grinned, then laughed and went back to picking through her deck. “Don’t watch me while I pick my cards.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“You’re distracting me, that’s why,” she said. She was smirking now as she flicked through the deck, and the twist of mischief on her lips made something warm unfurl through his chest. 

He tutted playfully. “Don’t slander me. I’m doing nothing of the sort.”

She glanced at him, then shuffled closer to him on her knees and leaned in close to his ear. “You’re stripping me with your eyes,” she whispered.

The warm feeling in his chest pulsed through his abdomen. He smiled slowly at her. “I would strip you with my hands, but I have a sneaking suspicion that that would be rude,” he murmured. 

Her smile curled with heat. Then she shifted away from him. “Save it for later,” she said. “And stop watching me.”

He sighed dramatically. “You’re a cruel woman.”

Tamaris grinned at him, then went back to sorting her cards, and Felassan purposely looked away from her and watched Solas and Nare instead. 

Solas appeared to be explaining to Nare about the leader cards. Nare was frowning slightly and nodding as he spoke, but when he turned away from her to place his glass on the side table, Felassan noticed something interesting. 

Nare’s gaze dropped to Solas’s hand, which was resting on his thigh. Her eyes then traced over his forearm and his crotch, and when Solas turned back to face her, she leaned away from him and smiled politely. 

_Someone is thirsty,_ Felassan thought in amusement. He glanced at Tamaris. “How are you faring over there?” 

“Not bad,” she said slowly. “I’m... ready.” She handed Tamlen a subset of the monster deck, then looked at Nare and Solas. “You guys ready?” 

“Yep,” Nare said. She slid off the couch to kneel on the floor and handed Tamlen her selected cards.

Tamlen shuffled each of their cards and handed back ten cards each, then jerked his chin at Nare. “You’re Scoia’tael, so you go first.” 

Nare nodded and nibbled the inside of her cheek as she considered her first move. Felassan sat up leisurely and gestured to Tamaris. “Come here so I can see,” he said.

She tucked her cards against her chest. “Don’t give me any hints.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. “Just come here.” He patted the floor beside him.

She shot him a skeptical look, then shuffled over to sit beside him, and he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “For luck,” he said.

She scoffed. “I’ll need it. My hand’s shit.” 

She was smiling, and her ears were turning pink. Felassan shamelessly admired her until Nare played her first card. 

Felassan watched contentedly as Tamaris and Nare played their first round of gwent. He focused at first on watching Tamaris, but his attention eventually shifted to Nare. Watching someone’s face while they played cards was a great way to get a sense of what they would do next, whether the hand was going well for them or not, and how confident they were. If Nare was at all expressive while playing cards, Felassan would probably be able to tell who would win the round just from watching her face. 

He watched her for two turns, then concluded that she was going to lose. Sure enough, two turns later, Nare sighed and shook her head. “Pass.”

Tamlen nodded. “That puts you at five points to Tamaris’s seventeen.” He looked at Tamaris. “Wanna pass or keep going?”

“Pass, obviously,” Tamaris said.

Tamlen smirked. “Just checking. The round is yours, seventeen to five. Ready for round two?”

“Yep,” Tamaris said. She turned to Felassan and tapped her cheek. “How about a little more luck?”

He laughed, then leaned in and kissed her noisily on the cheek, and Merrill tittered. “Ooh, I think that kind of luck is cheating. Don’t you think so, Tamlen?”

“Nothing in the rulebook about that,” Tamlen announced jovially. “Oh, I almost forgot, Tamaris gets to keep a card on the board for the next round.”

Nare’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, why?”

“She’s playing the monster deck,” he explained. “It’s a special thing her deck gets to do.”

Nare clicked her tongue. “Argh, I didn’t know that.” She looked askance at Solas. 

He tilted his head. “Would you like a hint?”

“Yes please,” she said. 

“All right. Let me see your cards, then.” He patted the couch beside him. 

Nare wet her lips, then rose to her feet and slowly sat beside Solas, and Felassan watched her shrewdly as Solas inspected her cards. Solas began quietly giving her advice, and her gaze kept darting to his lips while he spoke. When Solas leaned back, Nare gave him another polite smile and nodded before shifting back down to the floor. 

Felassan forced himself not to smile. _Trying to hide her crush on him,_ he thought. Not that her attempts to hide her feelings were effective — not to Felassan’s eyes, at least. He had no doubt that Solas was aware of Nare’s feelings, too, but that was fine. It wasn’t the first time Solas had had to cope with a student lusting after him. Felassan would know, having been one such student in the past.

Tamaris played a card, and Nare quickly followed suit. This round was more tense thanks to Solas’s advice to Nare, and when Nare and Tamaris were each down to their last three cards, Tamaris turned to him. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she murmured.

Felassan nodded. He’d been watching Nare’s face throughout the round, and her expression was hopeful but tense. She was fairly sure she had the round in hand. 

He leaned toward Tamaris. “Keep going until you have only your scorch card left,” he said very quietly. “Then use your leader card to resurrect a spy card. On your next turn, use the spy; that will give you two additional cards. She will have no cards left by then, so even if you lose this round, she will lose the next one by default, and the game will be yours.”

Tamaris hummed thoughtfully. “Clever.”

He leaned back on his palms. “I get that a lot,” he said complacently. “I should consider making it my legal middle name.”

She chuckled, then played the rest of the round as he’d suggested, and sure enough, she won when Nare ran out of cards. 

Dagna and Merrill clapped and whistled, and Nare smiled ruefully at Solas. “Sorry,” she said. “I tried to do what you told me…”

“Don’t apologize,” Solas said. “It was a solid first attempt. Carelessness would have lost you the game even sooner.”

“Yeah, don’t feel bad,” Tamaris said. “I lost seven times in a row when I was first learning this fucking game.”

“And got increasingly irate with every loss,” Felassan reminded her.

She _tsk_ ed. “Hey, I warned you that I was a sore loser.”

“I want to see you get sore,” Nare said cheekily. “Let’s play again.”

Merrill _ooh_ ed, and Dagna and Tamlen laughed. Tamaris smiled wolfishly, then leaned toward Nare. “Fine,” she said. “Challenge accepted. Let’s do it.”

Tamlen gave them each a hand of ten cards. But this time, before Nare could play her first turn, Solas leaned toward her. “Nare, may I see your cards?” 

Tamaris pointed at him. “Hey, cheater!”

He shot her a smile, but Nare waved her hand. “No no, I’m invoking help. Here, have a look.”

Tamaris clicked her tongue playfully and went back to perusing her cards, and Felassan grinned at her before turning his attention to Solas. He carefully watched Solas’s face as he inspected Nare’s cards, but as always when they were playing gwent, Solas’s expression was a perfectly impassive mask. 

He finally tilted his head. “I have an idea that may benefit you,” he said to Nare. “Would you care to hear it?” 

She nodded and rose to sit next to him on the couch once more, and as they murmured together, Felassan watched them for strategic purposes as well as for his own entertainment. This time as Solas explained his strategy to Nare, she kept her eyes on her cards the whole time.

 _Forcing herself not to look at him,_ Felassan thought with amusement. Solas spoke to her for a moment longer, and Nare finally nodded, then slid back down to the carpet. When she was seated, Felassan noticed that her expression was a neutral poker face.

Solas must have counselled her to control her face. Felassan grinned, and Solas shot him a swift smile in return.

He chuckled, and Tamaris gave him a suspicious look. “Why do I get the feeling I’m about to be destroyed?”

 _Because you probably are,_ Felassan thought. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Would you care for any advice before you start?”

“No,” she said, a little belligerently. “I can figure it out myself.”

Felassan nodded graciously, then watched as she mishandled the first round, ultimately winning the round but at the cost of half of her cards. Nare won the second round, and by the time they were on the tie-breaking round, Tamaris had only two cards left with no possibility of winning, no matter what she did. 

She gave Felassan a sheepish look. “Help?”

He sat up and leaned in close to her ear. “I wish I could,” he murmured. “But you were dead in the water when you used your best card so early in the first round.”

She recoiled slightly. “Ouch. That’s fucking harsh.”

“It’s the sad truth,” he said. “If it makes you feel any better, I say this with the deepest affection.” 

She huffed. “Too bad your affection doesn’t resurrect any of my cards for me.”

He laughed at her bluntness. “Now who’s being harsh?”

She shot him a smile, then tossed down her two remaining cards. “I cave,” she said to Nare. “I fucked up. You win.”

Dagna and Merrill cheered, and Solas chuckled and leaned back casually on the couch. “An excellent win, Nare. Well done.”

She shot him a cheeky smile. “Thanks for the advice, professor.”

Felassan raised an eyebrow. _That was flirtatious,_ he thought. Quite boldly flirtatious, especially for how carefully Nare was trying to act until now. 

Ah, and now the tips of her ears were turning pink. She clearly hadn’t meant to flirt with Solas so openly. 

_Poor Nare,_ he thought. He pretended not to notice her discomfiture and raised his eyebrows expectantly at Tamaris. “Are you going to play again? Or are you finished?”

“I’m finished,” she said.

He smiled. “One loss and you’re done?”

“Sore loser, remember?” she said archly.

Solas spoke up. “Every lost battle is an opportunity to learn. I would encourage you to play again.”

Tamaris gave him a frank look. “Trust me, you’re all better off if I don’t.”

Felassan chuckled. “She’s right; we are better off. Unless you want to hear the kind of swearing that would make _Blasto 3_ sound like a G-rated children’s movie.”

Tamaris _tsk_ ed. “Fuck you.”

The students chuckled, and Felassan grinned. “An excellent demonstration, _avise._ Thank you.”

She smirked at him, then looked up at Solas. “How are _you_ so good at gwent, anyway? I’m assuming it’s not because you’ve actually played the video game that it’s from.”

He leaned back on the couch and crossed one ankle over his knee. “It is a matter of practice, really. We have been playing this game twice a year since Tamlen joined our lab.” He looked askance at Tamlen. “That was… three years ago, I believe?”

“Yeah,” Tamlen said. “But I was playing this game every day for months before you started playing, and you always beat me.”

Merrill gasped and sat up straight. “I know why Solas is so good at gwent! You have a secret gwent deck that we don’t know about, don’t you?”

Dagna and Tamlen laughed, and Solas smiled faintly at her. “I don’t, no. I assure you that I am not that duplicitous.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. “Still, playing for a few hours twice a year? That’s not that much practice to be this good.”

Solas tilted his head thoughtfully. “If truth be told, I would have to chalk it up to the nature of this game. Felassan and Tamlen call it a game of strategy, and Abelas calls it a game of chance. But as I see it, it is a game of politics.” He gestured at the four competing decks of cards. “There are four factions here. Each of them have their own strengths and weaknesses. Some of the cards do not abide by the rules that the rest are forced to follow. Knowledge of your opponent’s resources is just as important as the knowledge of your own. And if you are playing against real opponents instead of a computer, you can exploit your opponent’s body language as well. The way their face changes as they examine their cards, whether they shift restlessly as they consider their moves: all of this can be used in the service of winning the game.” He picked up his glass of port from the side table. “Finally, as Felassan can attest, gwent is a game of patience.”

“How?” Tamaris said skeptically. “It’s only two rounds per game. Three if you get a tie.”

Solas looked at Felassan expectantly, and Felassan explained. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice the first round in order to ultimately win the game.”

“Exactly,” Solas said. He gave Tamaris a knowing look. “That is something _you_ could stand to learn, from what I have seen.”

She scoffed, then leaned back on her palms. “Uh-huh. I see how it is.”

“Do you?” Solas said, and he took a sip of port.

“Yeah, I think so,” she said.

Solas nodded, then set his glass down and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Would you care to play against me, then?”

Tamaris studied him shrewdly before answering. “No.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“I’ll be patient and get better at this stupid game,” she said. “Next time.”

Solas smiled, then leaned back on the couch once more. “You see? You are learning already.”

Tamaris huffed in amusement. “Cocky bastard.”

Felassan snickered. “He is, isn’t he?”

“Confident, not cocky,” Solas said pleasantly. “There is a distinct difference.” He smiled briefly at the students, and Felassan watched with interest — and a little sympathy — as Nare smiled back at him, then quickly looked away.

“Okay,” Tamlen announced. “I’m feeling inspired. I want to play. Who’s going to play me? Merrill?”

Merrill waved him off. “Oh no, I can’t. Too much punch!”

“Me neither,” Dagna said. “I’m too punchy too.”

Tamlen gave Nare a hopeful look. “Nare? Are you feeling lucky?”

“Sure, I’ll play,” she said. She looked at Solas. “Would you help me again if I need it?”

“Certainly,” he said. “Felassan, will you keep track of points while Tamlen is playing?”

“Sorry, can’t do it,” Felassan said cheerfully. “I’m also far too punchy.”

Solas shot him a chiding look, then sighed. “Fine, I will do it.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket in order to count the points, and Felassan turned to Tamaris with a smile. 

“Another drink?” he said.

“Sure,” she said.

Felassan rose to his feet and held out his hand to help Tamaris up, and they meandered to the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, he sauntered over to the fridge. “Now, I think I’ve had enough of my own punch, but that cider that Solas got was—”

Tamaris grabbed his arm and pulled. He stumbled slightly as he turned around to face her, then let out a little _oomph_ as she pushed him back against the fridge. 

She curled her fingers into his shirt and pressed herself firmly against his front, and a warm wave of interest spread through his body. He curved his hand over her hip and stroked the small of her back. “Hm, someone is having a good time,” he murmured.

“ _Someone_ is wondering when we can leave,” she said huskily. She lifted herself onto her toes and kissed his jaw, and Felassan smiled lazily as she trailed a little line of kisses up to the angle of his jaw. 

She nipped the side of his neck, and a flood of sensation pulsed between his legs. He clenched his fingers on her hip and tilted his head to the side, and when she nipped his neck again, he sighed contentedly. 

“Why do you want to leave?” he whispered. “Aren’t you enjoying the scintillating conversation and the company?”

She leaned away and raised one eyebrow at him. “Sure. But there’s something else I’d enjoy more.”

He pretended to ignore her suggestive tone and raised his eyebrows. “What might that be? An in-depth discussion of Orlesian politics, maybe? Because that can easily be arranged—”

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. Her hips were pressing firmly into his own, and the fingers of her left hand were drifting down to hook into the pocket of his jeans, and Felassan couldn’t help himself: he twined his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back, then delved his tongue into her mouth.

She whimpered around his tongue and tugged at the collar of his shirt. Felassan kissed her hungrily, savouring the sleek twisting heat of her tongue and the perfect plumpness of her lips, then abruptly broke the kiss and stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. 

“What do you want, Tamaris?” he breathed. “Tell me what you’d enjoy right now.”

She exhaled shakily, then pulled him close and pressed her lips to his ear. “I want your cock,” she whispered. 

A hot rush of lust pulsed through his limbs. Tamaris kissed his ear, then nipped his earlobe before whispering to him again. “When can we go?”

He inhaled slowly to calm his pulse, then took a small step back from her. “Soon,” he murmured. “Based on the amount of alcohol that’s been consumed, I predict that Dagna will start nodding off within twenty minutes—”

Tamaris wilted. “Twenty minutes?”

He grinned. “Patience, Tamaris. She’ll start falling asleep, and that will be the cue for us to clear out.”

She _tsk_ ed, and Felassan chuckled. “I hate to break this to you, but it’s considered rude in most circles to leave a party for the sole purpose of fucking.”

“Nice try,” she said dryly. “You don’t care about being polite. You just like torturing me.”

“I wouldn’t do it so often if you didn’t enjoy it so much,” he said slyly.

She scoffed and rubbed her nose, but it didn’t help to hide her grin. “Okay, fine, we’re stuck here for another twenty minutes,” she said. “That’s enough for a drink.”

“It certainly is,” he said. He finally opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of cider, then opened them and handed them to Tamaris. “Take mine back to the living room, will you? I’ll just use the restroom.”

She nodded and took the bottles, and Felassan headed down the hall to the bathroom at the far end of Solas’s apartment. A couple of minutes later, he was on his way back to the living room when he glanced idly through the half-ajar door of Solas’s art studio.

He paused in surprise. There was a half-finished painting on the easel: a semi-abstract landscape study of a pond at sunrise, painted with Solas’s usual degree of exquisitely soft colour blending. What surprised Felassan, however, was that the painting was done in watercolours. 

_Odd,_ he thought. _Solas doesn’t work in watercolour._ He moved away from the studio and toward the living room, then realized that Solas was standing in the kitchen filling a glass of water. 

Felassan joined him in the kitchen. “Branching out, are you?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry?”

“The painting in your studio,” Felassan said. “It’s in watercolour.”

“Oh, yes,” Solas said. “I’m trying to refresh my memory of the medium.”

“I thought you didn’t enjoy working in watercolour,” Felassan said.

“Not for my own personal work, no,” he said. “But it’s Nare’s favoured medium.”

“Ah, I see,” Felassan said with a grin. “Are you going to surpass her and become famous in her method of painting, too?”

Solas chuckled. “I did not surpass you.”

“I’ve never painted a mural as famous as any of yours,” Felassan pointed out.

“You have never tried to paint a mural since you became a serious artist,” Solas replied.

“True,” Felassan said easily. He leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “Are you saying I should try?”

“Do you want to?” Solas asked. “That is the better question.”

“Not particularly,” Felassan said. “I’ll stick to digital painting, thank you.”

Solas huffed. “Digital painting. It is not the same as painting with real brushes and paint.” He gestured for Felassan to leave the kitchen.

“You’re right,” Felassan said. “It’s better. Proper layers that you can turn on and off, being able to erase anything at any time, no mess or cleanup…”

Solas chuckled and shook his head ruefully, and they returned to the living room to join the others. Nare and Tamaris seemed to be bickering good-naturedly about something while Tamlen and Merrill laughed, and as Felassan seated himself on the floor beside Tamaris, she smiled at him.

“Hey,” she said. She held out his cider and darted a quick glance at Dagna.

He looked over to see Dagna leaning her head on Merrill’s arm. She was still awake, but just marginally, it seemed: her eyelids were at half-mast, and she was blinking slowly.

Felassan forced himself not to laugh as he took the cider from Tamaris. “Thank you,” he said. He took a sip of cider, then set his bottle on the floor and smiled at everyone. “All right. I think I have the faculties for one more round of gwent, and I think Tamaris should play me.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and Felassan grinned; he could practically hear the ‘what the fuck’ going through her mind. She clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes, then gestured at Tamlen. “Fine. Give me the fucking monster deck.”

Tamlen handed her the deck, and Nare laughed. “Oh, Felassan. Now you’re just asking for trouble.” 

“I always do,” he said cheerfully. He took the Nilfgaardian deck from Tamlen, and a minute later, he and Tamaris were playing gwent. 

Tamaris’s so-called ‘strategy’ was aggressive and careless. By the time she was down to her last card, Tamlen and Merrill were beside themselves with laughter.

She threw down her last card and gave Felassan an arch look. “There. You won. Are you happy?” 

Felassan grinned at her, then glanced at Tamlen. “What’s the final score?”

“Sixty-three to seven,” Tamlen wheezed. “That was so horrible, Tamaris.”

Nare giggled. “She obviously wasn’t trying.”

“I was trying to get this fucking game over and done with,” Tamaris said bluntly. “And look, it’s been less than two minutes. In my opinion, I won.” 

Felassan tutted playfully. “Tamaris, Tamaris. The game’s not over yet.” 

“Yes it is!” she retorted. “I lost. Really badly.”

“So badly,” Tamlen crowed.

Felassan raised an eyebrow. “But I haven’t finished my drink yet.”

She wilted. “You never said we had to play until you finished your drink!”

“Well, I’m saying it now,” he said. “We’ll stop playing when I’ve finished my cider.” He took another intentionally small sip of his cider. 

She curled her lip, and Nare laughed and shifted away from her. “Okay, I’m getting out of the danger zone. Excuse me.” She stood up and sat on the couch beside Solas.

Felassan gave his cards to Tamlen to shuffle, then smiled cheekily at Tamaris. “Someone is irritable,” he remarked.

“ _Someone_ is asking for it when we get home,” she snapped.

Nare and Tamlen laughed, and Felassan grinned unrepentantly at her. She was staring hard at him, her catlike green eyes practically sparking like an electrical wire, and he could only hope she’d maintain this volatile spark of heat until they got back to his place tonight. 

They played a couple more hands of gwent, which Tamaris invariably lost. After their fourth swiftly-lost game, Felassan sighed mockingly. “I wonder if maybe we should keep playing until you win,” he suggested.

She growled at him — actually growled — and Solas chuckled and rubbed his chin. “I’m afraid I may have to be the voice of reason and suggest that you call this off.”

“Why?” Nare said.

Solas nodded his head at Dagna, who was fast asleep. 

Tamaris gave Felassan a very pointed look, and he chuckled. “Solas is right. That’s our cue to head out.” He helped Tamlen to tidy the gwent decks and to get Dagna on her feet. 

Merrill and Nare, meanwhile, went over to the dining table to pick up their food containers. Merrill smiled at Solas as she placed a lid on a bowl of mostly-finished salad. “You’re going to have so many leftovers!” she said.

“Indeed,” Solas said ruefully. “I believe I’ll bring them to the lab on Monday.” 

“Do you need any help tidying up?” Nare asked. “I can stay to help. There’s a lot of food and dishes here to deal with.”

 _Trying to find an excuse to be alone with him,_ Felassan thought idly. It was classic flirty-student behaviour, and nothing that Solas hadn’t dealt with before – or Felassan or Abelas, for that matter. Felassan was a bit surprised Nare was doing something so obvious, however, especially when she’d been trying to hide her crush on Solas for most of the night.

Sure enough, Solas shook his head. “Thank you, Nare, but I have it well in hand.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “A lot of the containers here are ours. And we’ve left bottles and glasses everywhere. Helping you to tidy is the least I can do.”

Solas didn’t reply right away, and Felassan glanced over at him. Solas was rubbing his chin and frowning slightly at the dish-strewn dining table while Nare stacked the dishes on the table. 

Finally Solas sighed. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind the assistance.” 

“No problem,” Nare said, and she continued to tidy the dishes.

 _Interesting,_ Felassan thought. He hadn’t expected Solas to let her stay.

He turned back to the hall closet and took out Tamaris’s coat, then handed it to her before taking out his own. A few minutes later, they were all ready to go, minus Nare. 

Everyone said their goodbyes, and they shuffled out of the apartment as a group. Tamlen and Merrill chatted as they made their way to the elevator, and by the time they were all stepping out of Solas’s building, an Uber was waiting for Tamlen, Merrill and Dagna.

They helped Dagna into the car and waved goodbye, leaving Tamaris and Felassan to wait for their ride. He turned to her with a smile. “So now that you’ve—”

She grabbed the collar of his coat and kissed him. He banded his arm around her waist and kissed her back enthusiastically, stroking her tongue with his and gently scraping her scalp with his nails, and when they broke apart a blissful moment later, they were both panting. 

He smiled and smoothed his palm over her bottom. “Someone is shamelessly horny,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “You have a problem with that?”

“My only problem is that it’ll take twenty-five minutes to get back to my place,” he replied.

She sighed. “Fuck.”

“We will,” he assured her. “Just be patient.”

She tried to scowl at him, but her scowl was unconvincing when the corners of her lips were twitching. Finally she laughed, then released his collar and exhaled. “Fine, let’s talk about something else. Distract me.”

He chuckled and tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat. “All right. Tell me what you thought of everyone in two sentences or less.”

“That’s easy,” she said. “Merrill seems like the kind of girl who gets lost in the grocery store, but also wanders into a bad part of town and chews people out if they try to mug her.”

He laughed heartily at this. He knew for a fact that Merrill had taken self-defense classes and wasn’t afraid to use her lessons.

Tamaris smiled at him before going on. “Dagna seems kind of brilliant. She’ll probably be more famous than Solas and Abelas someday.”

“I think you’re right,” Felassan said. “She’s well on her way.”

Tamaris nodded. “Tamlen’s a nice kid. Seems like one of those guys in their young twenties who really needs male role models to figure out what the fuck he’s doing with his life, you know what I mean?”

“I do,” Felassan said. “And I agree.” He raised an eyebrow. “What about Abelas?”

Tamaris smiled faintly. “He’s so fucking sweet to Athera. That’s all I need to know.”

Felassan chuckled. “Fair enough. And Solas?” He was particularly interested to know what Tamaris thought of Solas, partly because he knew she was skeptical about him already, but particularly in light of what he himself had observed tonight.

Her expression became pensive. “Solas… is not as pretentious as I thought. But he’s hard to pin down.”

Felassan nodded but didn’t reply; she was frowning thoughtfully as though she had more to say, and Felassan waited for her to speak.

She finally gave him a flat look. “Okay, I feel a little disloyal saying this, but I know you’re not going to tell anyone, so whatever.”

“What is it?” he asked.

She chewed her lip, then shrugged. “Nare has a thing for Solas.”

He’d been wondering if she would notice. “How do you know?” he asked.

“I just know her,” Tamaris said. “I’ve seen her around guys before. I’ve seen how easily she can get a guy if she really wants to. Not that she’s doing that with Solas,” she added hastily. “She was actually being really low-key. I don’t think she wants him to know she has a thing for him.”

“I agree,” Felassan said.

She raised her eyebrows. “So you saw it too? The little looks and all that?”

“I saw that, yes,” he said.

She smiled. “Shit. She’ll be embarrassed if she knows that you know.”

He smirked. “You don’t have to tell her that I know. You could spare her the embarrassment.”

She chuckled. “I guess that’s true.”

Just then, their Uber arrived. They slid into the back seat, and when they were on their way to Felassan’s place, Tamaris spoke again. “I don’t know what she was thinking with staying behind to help him with the tidying, though. That was kind of forward.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Felassan said. And really, that was the only thing he’d seen tonight that really made him wonder. Until that point, Felassan had chalked up everything he’d seen to Nare having a student’s infatuation with her professor. But the fact that Solas had allowed her to stay and clean… 

Tamaris chuckled. “I’m totally going to ask her about Solas tomorrow.”

Felassan smiled. “You should. And tell me what she says.”

She gave him a chiding look. “You’re such a gossip hound.”

“It wouldn’t be gossip,” he said innocently. “It would just be a boyfriend and girlfriend sharing about their days.”

She scoffed. “Uh-huh.” Then she shot him a sideways look.

He smiled. “Ask, _avise_. I can see the question in your face.”

She smiled faintly, but her face soon became curious again. “You don’t think he’d actually make a move on her, do you?”

Felassan hesitated, and her expression sharpened. “You think he—”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s not that I think he would. It’s…” He rubbed his chin while he tried to gather his thoughts. “Supervising another artist is different from supervising an academic student like Dagna or Merrill,” he explained. “Art is more intimate, more personal – well, you know all this. You talk about your personal lives through the course of talking about your art. It is not difficult to see why Nare would grow attached to Solas through the course of their normal supervision stuff.” He shrugged. “I did, after all.”

She frowned. “I thought that was more because you were friends with Solas since you were a teenager.”

“That was part of it,” he said. “But it wasn't until he was supervising me that I really thought I was in love with him.”

“Oh.” She dropped his gaze and nibbled the inside of her cheek, and he eyed her fondly. No matter how much she tried to hide it, he knew that Tamaris felt a little jealous about Felassan’s long-past infatuation with Solas. 

She looked up once more. “So wait. Do you think he would hit on her since she’s his art student and it’s a more intimate kind of supervision relationship?”

“Not necessarily,” he said.

She arched an eyebrow. “‘Not necessarily’? That’s not exactly reassuring.”

He smiled. “You sound worried. What if they were having an affair? What would you do?”

“I would ask her what the fuck is going on and if I need to fucking stab him,” Tamaris said promptly. 

Felassan snorted a laugh. She was so hilariously aggressive sometimes. “Would you assault him with your house keys?”

“If I had to, yes,” she said. “If it sounded like he was preying on her because she’s his student, then fuck yes.”

Felassan sobered. “I can tell you with certainty that that’s not the case.”

“Mm,” she grunted. “Still…” She trailed off, then shrugged. “I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.”

 _And I’ll ask him about it when I see him on Tuesday,_ Felassan thought, but he didn’t say this. If he mentioned that he was going to ask Solas about his relationship with Nare, it would alarm Tamaris, and he didn’t want to put her on alert without need. 

A little wriggle of unease entered his gut. He didn’t like the idea of keeping anything from Tamaris, especially knowing how hard it had been for her to trust him. But Solas was his best friend — his family, really — and he didn’t want to cast Solas in a bad light to Tamaris if he didn’t need to. 

He shook off the unease and smiled at her. “Are you going to share with me what she says?”

She gave him an appraising look. “Maybe. I’ll consider it. But only because I know you’ll keep it to yourself.”

“I’m honoured by your consideration,” he said.

She smirked, and they were quiet for a moment. Then Tamaris chuckled softly and rubbed her mouth.

“What’s funny?” he asked.

She shook her head slightly, then smiled at him. “Nare having a thing for Solas. It actually makes a lot of sense.”

“How so?”

She hesitated, then gave him a severe look. “Okay, if I tell you this, you _have_ to keep it a fucking secret.”

He grinned. “Should I be encouraging you to keep your secrets to yourself? Maybe you’re too drunk to be sharing this with me.”

She _tsk_ ed. “I’m not that drunk. Do you want to know the secret or not?”

“Of course,” he said. “I love secrets.”

“Okay,” she said. She lowered her voice. “Nare has a thing for older men who are, uh, authoritative.”

“You mean she has a daddy kink,” Felassan said.

Tamaris’s jaw dropped. “How do you — how did you know that’s a thing?”

“I know everything,” he said.

She gaped at him, and he raised his eyebrows. Then she burst out a laugh. “Okay, well, yeah. She has a daddy kink, Solas is a confident teacher, he got kind of cocky during gwent…” She shrugged. “I can see why she likes him.”

Felassan smiled slowly. “Should I be getting jealous?”

She barked out a laugh. “You don’t have a jealous bone in your body. And no, you don’t need to be jealous.”

“Good,” he said. “Because a man doesn’t need to be older to be authoritative.” He gestured casually at himself. “I, for instance, am entirely capable of being authoritative.”

She grinned. “Is that so?”

“Yes indeed,” he said pleasantly. “I can easily be all bossy and tell you what to do. Would you care for a demonstration?”

She laughed, then folded her arms and gave him an arch look. “What kind of demonstration?”

He pretended to think for a moment, then shifted a little closer to her. “I could tell you what to do when we get back to my place, for example,” he said quietly.

She wet her lips, then lifted her chin. “Uh-huh. Like what?”

He forced himself not to laugh. Her casual words did nothing to hide her obvious interest. 

He unbuckled his seatbelt and slid into the middle seat beside her, then leaned in close to her ear. “Like this: when we get to my apartment, you’re going to take off your panties. Not your dress, just your panties.”

Her breath hitched. He smiled, then continued to whisper in her ear. “You’re going to sit on the kitchen counter and open your legs, and you’re going to show yourself off for me until I think you’re ready.” 

“Ready for what?” she snapped. 

_Irritable,_ he thought in amusement. “Ready for me to do whatever I feel like,” he replied. “Ready for me to eat your sweet pussy, maybe. Or ready to fuck you hard right there on the counter. I’ll see how I feel when we get home.” 

“How _you_ feel, huh?” she said breathlessly. “What about how _I_ feel?” 

He placed his hand on her bare knee, satisfied when her spine arched slightly. “Are you asking me to feel you?” he whispered. “Right now? That’s bold of you.” 

She swallowed hard and didn’t reply. When Felassan brushed his thumb lightly over the inside of her knee, she shifted restlessly. 

He smirked and didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride, and Tamaris didn’t speak either. He kept his hand on her knee, his thumb drifting over her skin as he _very_ slowly moved his hand higher on her leg. By the time they were pulling up in front of his building, his hand was resting comfortably on her thigh, and she was breathing so shallowly that it was a marvel she hadn’t passed out. 

They slid out of their poor Uber driver’s car and made their way into the lobby, and still neither of them spoke. When the elevator arrived, they stepped into it silently.

Felassan hit the button for his floor. As soon as the elevator doors were shut, Tamaris spun toward him and grabbed his arm. “Come here—”

He kissed her hard and gripped the back of her neck, then crowded her back against the elevator wall. She gasped as her back struck the wall, and Felassan permitted her one second to breathe before kissing her again.

Her fingers scrabbled at his coat. He pushed her hands away and slid his hand smoothly up her thigh instead, and she broke their kiss with a breathy little mewl. “F-fuck—”

He abruptly slid his fingers into her panties and petted her slickness, and her mouth dropped open with shock and pleasure. Then Felassan pressed his lips to her ear. “Someone is eager,” he purred.

She curled her hips toward him and gasped. “Someone is a fucking smug asshole,” she moaned.

He smiled, then gently pressed her clit. “ _Someone_ had better do as I said and get her panties off as soon as we’re in my apartment.”

She panted and writhed against his fingers, then suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand out of her panties. Then, to his surprise, she started pulling down her underwear. 

Felassan watched in amazement as she shimmied her underwear off. Then she grabbed his hand and shoved her panties into his palm. “There,” she snapped. “Happy now?”

Her lips were flushed with pleasure and curled with irritation, and her catlike eyes were glowing with a ferocious kind of heat that promised all kinds of payback as soon as they got to his apartment. He grinned at her and tucked her panties into his coat pocket. “Very happy, actually,” he said. “I would have led with this if I knew you would do it.” 

The corners of her lips twitched, and Felassan admired the hint of laughter in her beautiful face. Then the elevator _ding_ ed to announce his floor. 

Tamaris arranged her face into a scowl, then stalked out of the elevator, and Felassan followed her at a purposely leisurely pace. By the time he joined her outside of his apartment, she was prowling impatiently in front of his door. 

She glared at him as he took his keys out of his pocket. “Why are you taking so fucking long?” she complained. 

He smiled at her and unlocked the door. Tamaris reached for the knob, but before she could open his apartment door, he took her chin in a gentle grip.

He lifted her chin so she was looking him in the eye, and she glared at him. “What? What are you staring at?”

He studied her face for a moment: her defiantly creased eyebrows, her sparkling green eyes, her plump lips that were parted and panting for breath. There was so much desire in her lovely face, so much obvious want, and the fact that she wasn’t afraid to show it anymore… 

His heart swelled with fondness. “I like seeing you like this,” he said.

“Like what?” she demanded. “Horny and pissed?”

He grinned. “Well, yes. But not just that.” He stroked her chin with his thumb. “It makes me happy to see how much you want me.”

Her face softened with surprise, and Felassan wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have said something so tender. He and Tamaris had only been ‘officially together’ for a week now, after all, and maybe his words were too close to the truth to share while they were both half-drunk — the truth that made his heart flip whenever she texted him or laughed at his dumb jokes or invited herself to sleep over at his place. 

The truth was this: Felassan was in love with Tamaris. And he knew that Tamaris felt the same for him. But just because she loved him didn’t mean she was ready to hear it, or to tell him the words herself. 

He had better gloss over his own words, then. He brushed his lips over her ear. “I like seeing you so greedy for me,” he murmured. “I like knowing that underneath this dress, you’re dripping wet and waiting for me to lick you clean.”

She inhaled shakily. “Can I go inside and sit on the fucking kitchen counter, then?” she breathed.

“You’d better,” he purred. Then he released her chin and opened the door for her. 

She stepped into his apartment and dropped her purse on the floor. She shucked her coat and her boots, leaving them in a jumble on the floor as well, and Felassan watched in amusement as she made a swift beeline for the kitchen. 

He left his own coat and shoes on the floor to deal with later and joined Tamaris in the kitchen. She was sitting on the kitchen counter as he’d asked, but her legs were crossed. 

He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t what I told you to do.”

She shrugged and idly swung her bare foot. “I thought I’d test your whole ‘I can be authoritative’ thing.”

“Interesting,” he said. “So what you’re saying is you want to be bossed around.”

“I’m just interested to see if you can stick to it,” she replied.

He huffed in amusement. First she called him a tease and got irritated with him for taking his time, and now she was being so coy? She must be absolutely dripping wet by now.

He stepped closer to the counter. “Open your legs, Tamaris.”

“I don’t think I will,” she said.

He tilted his head. “I thought you wanted my cock. If that’s what you want, then you had better open your legs.”

“No,” she said. Her eyes were bright with heat and mischief, and her spine was arched despite her defiant words, and she was so obviously asking for him to boss her around that it was laughable.

He stepped closer to her, then gently eased the strap of her dress down off of her shoulder. He eased down her bra strap as well, then traced his fingers along the edge of her bra. 

She was breathing shallowly now. Felassan pretended not to notice as he pulled her bra cup down, then brushed his thumb over her dusky nipple. 

Tamaris arched her spine and drew another shaky breath. When her nipple was a firm little peak, he looked her in the eye.

“Open your legs,” he ordered, and he pinched her nipple.

She gasped, and her thighs slid open as though he’d flipped a switch. Triumphant and amused, he pushed up the skirt of her dress and ducked his head low.

He pressed his tongue between her legs, and she jolted and slid her hand into his hair. “Oh fuck — _fuck!_ ” She gasped and widened her legs further, and Felassan took advantage of her compliance, hungrily kissing her swollen folds and lapping at the perfect little bud of her clit. 

She leaned back on her palms and rolled her hips against his mouth, and he lifted his face briefly to look her in the eye. “Hook your leg over my shoulder,” he commanded.

She did as he’d told her, and he admired the slick sheen of her pussy before lowering his mouth between her legs once more. He kissed her firmly before running his tongue over her clit, too eager and hungry to tease her slowly like he usually did, but Tamaris didn’t seem to mind; she moaned and lifted her hips to meet his mouth, and in the space of a minute, she was gasping for breath and tightening her fingers in his hair. 

He rolled his tongue firmly around her clit, impatient now to hear the sound of her climax. A few frenzied heartbeats later, she shuddered and let out that anticipated cry. “Oh f-fuck — please!” 

He ran his tongue carefully along the length of her cleft and sucked gently on her clit, and she sobbed and pulled his hair as her climax took her. When her fingers loosened in his hair, he eased her leg off of his shoulder and lifted his head. 

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright and feverish, and she was completely exquisite. She stroked his cheek and plucked at the collar of his shirt. “Felassan—”

He kissed her hard, plunging his tongue into her mouth and palming her breast. She moaned into his mouth and fumbled at the buttons of his shirt and nipped his tongue, and her unfettered hunger was like fuel for his own lust. Her every kiss, her every panting breath, every button she undid and every nip of her teeth against his lower lip: all of it only served to add to his own maddening need. 

He abruptly lifted her off the counter, and she broke from his lips with a gasp of surprise as she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Where are we going?” she panted. 

“Bedroom,” he said brusquely, and he started carrying her down the hall. “And when we get there, this is what’s going to happen.” He kicked open the door, then tumbled onto the bed with Tamaris beneath him. 

She gasped at the impact, then immediately reached for his shirt buttons, but Felassan grabbed her hands and pinned her wrists to the bed. “Here is what will happen,” he said roughly. “I am going to stand up and take off my shirt. Then I’m going to open my pants. Then _you_ are going to get on your hands and knees for me.” He ducked his head and ran his tongue over her nipple.

She moaned and arched toward him, and he tightened his grip on her wrists to keep her still. He savoured her nipple for a moment longer, suckling gently at the pebbled bud before feeling its firmness between his teeth, and when Tamaris was mewling, he lifted his head to look at her once more. 

“You’ll be on your hands and knees for me,” he rasped. “And I will fuck you until we’re both deeply satisfied. Yes?”

“Yes,” she cried. “Yes, yes, just — just fuck me, come on!” 

He smiled at her impatience, but for once, he was too eager to provoke her any further. His cock was throbbing from resisting her all night and the scent of her pussy was still lingering deliciously on his lips, and every second he spent not inside of her was growing more torturous. 

He released her wrists and stood up, then finished unbuttoning his shirt, and Tamaris sat up as well, her eyes tracing heatedly over his chest as the buttons came undone. He dropped the shirt on the floor and started unbuckling his belt, and she shifted toward the edge of the bed. 

He paused and raised his eyebrows. “What did I say?”

She sighed loudly. “For fuck’s sake—”

“What did I say, Tamaris?” he repeated. 

She shot him the filthiest look, then rolled onto her hands and knees on the bed, and Felassan smirked and continued working at his belt. “There’s my girl,” he teased. 

She sneered at him and lowered herself to her elbows, and a fresh roar of hunger ripped through his body. The curve of her spine was so inviting, her whole body bowed like a cat in heat, just waiting for him to have his way with her… 

He pulled his throbbing cock out of his pants and stroked it, and Tamaris’s expression twisted with yearning. “Come on, Felassan, hurry!”

“Be patient, _avise,_ ” he said distractedly. He kneeled behind her and lifted her skirt, and his cock pulsed with anticipation. She was positively glossy with lust, her perfect pussy flushed and glazed and ready for him, and if this were any other day, he would have taken the time to admire her wetness and to feel her slippery glory on his fingers. 

But tonight, he’d waited too long already, and Tamaris was twisting and whimpering on the bed and looking like his every fantasy come true, and he couldn’t be bothered to wait. He rested his palm reverently on her bottom, then slid himself inside of her in one smooth stroke.

She cried out with pleasure, and — gods, she — she felt so good. So incredible, hot and tight, and the mewling sounds she was making, _yes…_

He withdrew and thrust into her again, and she cried out again and clenched her fists in the sheets. “Again!” she blurted. “Again, again, please!”

He slammed into her hard, and she burst out a guttural cry. Spurred and riled by the sounds of her pleasure, by the sleek heat of her and the smoothness of her skin under his palm and the intoxicating scent of her sex, Felassan thrust into her with growing eagerness, frenzied and desperate as he admired the sight of his length sliding in and out of her glorious heat— 

He burst suddenly, a blazing burst of pleasure prompted by too much teasing and a little too much booze. He shuddered and gasped and thrust into her again, desperate to wring out every last moment of pleasure that her perfect body could give him, and when his rapture had finally eased down to a warm and satisfying glow, he carefully pulled out of her.

He bent over her and kissed her shoulder, and she smiled lazily and let out a little sigh. Felassan smiled as well, then lowered himself on top of her so he was pressing her into the mattress.

She chuckled and wiggled beneath him. “Hey, get off. You’re squishing me.”

He hummed happily and slid his arm beneath her in a hug. “But I’m just so comfortable.”

“Will you still be comfortable when you crush me to death?” she said cheekily. 

He huffed. “That’s one way to persuade me to let you go.” He reluctantly rolled off of her, and she shot him a quick smile as she slid off of the bed. 

He watched contentedly as she sauntered off to the bathroom, then rolled onto his belly and snuggled his cheek into the pillow. When Tamaris came back a couple of minutes later, she took off her dress and bra before crawling back onto the bed and stretching out on top of him. 

She pulled the blankets up to cover them both, then rested her cheek on his back and slid her arm underneath him to hug him like he’d been hugging her a moment ago. He smiled into his pillow, feeling foolishly giddy at her easy embrace and the heat of her naked body. 

She nibbled his shoulder blade, and he let out a contented sigh. “Someone’s happy,” he murmured.

She hummed in agreement. “ _Someone_ finally got some cock after a whole night of socializing.”

Felassan snickered. “I’ll tell Solas you said that. ‘Your party was so boring that Tamaris begged me to fuck her to break up the monotony’.”

She laughed. “Okay, maybe I’m being a bitch. It was a pretty good party.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said. “I would take it as a personal affront if my punch had failed to show you a good time.”

She chuckled softly. They fell into a lazy and comfortable silence, and Felassan enjoyed the easy rise and fall of her chest as she breathed against his back. Her warm bare skin was more comforting than the blankets, and his every breath was scented by the embrium fragrance of her hair, and it wasn’t long before he could feel himself drifting off.

“Felassan?” she murmured.

He cracked open his eyes. “Mm?”

“Do you think Solas and Nare are having an affair?”

A hint of nerves twisted in his gut. “I don’t think so,” he said carefully. But if he was being entirely honest, he couldn’t be certain. The fact that Solas had allowed her to stay…

“You don’t sound so sure,” she said.

He smirked. He had to admire her perceptiveness. “I could ask you the same question,” he said. “Do _you_ think they’re having an affair?”

“No, I… don’t think so,” she said. But Felassan noted that she sounded as unsure as he felt.

“Mm,” he murmured. “Tell me what you think after you talk to her tomorrow.”

She clicked her tongue. “You really are a gossip hound.”

“I really am,” he agreed. “Tell me anyway.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But only because I like you.”

His heart flipped. _I like you,_ she’d said. But Felassan knew what she really meant by it, even if she wasn’t yet ready to say.

 _I love you, too,_ he thought. But he would keep this thought to himself until she was ready to hear it. 

“I appreciate that,” he mumbled instead. “And I like you too.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she pressed her lips to his shoulder blade, then tightened her arm around him. 

Felassan smiled and closed his eyes. A peaceful moment later, cocooned in the warmth of Tamaris’s embrace, he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Solas and Nare! 
> 
> I am [Pikapeppa](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your wonderful artiste and creator of Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) Send us good juju as we struggle through work and take emotional refuge in this fic and art instead. 😂❤


	40. Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are blessed by a whole selection of Professor Solas sketches by Elbenherz today!! FOREARMS! A SEXY STRIDE! FINGERS BY HIS DIVINE MOUTH! 😍😍😍😍
> 
> Oh, also, smut. A LOT OF SMUT.

###  NARE 

Solas smiled and chatted politely with Felassan and the others as he followed them to the door, and Nare breathed slowly to control her giddiness. In a matter of seconds, a few short little seconds, she and Solas would be alone.

Finally, at long last, he closed the door behind Tamaris and Felassan, and Nare coyly tilted her head. “So what should I start tidying first?” she asked. “The bottles on the–” 

Solas turned to her and curved his fingers around the back of her neck, and Nare broke off with a gasp. His touch was like an electric shock, turning her thrill of anticipation into a full-blown roar of lust. And the look on his face…

Her pulse throbbed between her legs. A second ago, he’d been smiling politely as he wished the others a good night, looking benign and mild-mannered as he always did. But now, his mild-mannered mask was gone. Now he was looking at her with so much heated intent that she was light-headed with want.

Now, Solas was the Dread Wolf, and Nare was suddenly and instantly desperate for him to take her.

He stepped close to her, and her breath hitched in her throat. “I–”

He kissed her, cutting off her half-formed words, and Nare instantly parted her lips. He licked her tongue and tugged gently at her lower lip, his fingers sliding into her hair as he walked her back toward the kitchen, and Nare couldn’t breathe, she — she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, all she could do was fall helplessly into the urgency of his kiss, his lips pulling at hers, _please_ —

Her back hit the wall beside the kitchen doorway. Solas pressed himself against her, trapping her against the wall and pressing his thigh between her legs, and Nare was acutely reminded of the orgasm she hadn’t been able to have earlier tonight. She arched into his chest and suckled his tongue, and when he lifted his knee to press into the vee of her thighs, she broke from his lips with a gasp.

Her heart was pounding between her legs like a beacon. She whimpered and grabbed for his belt. “Please,” she panted. “Please, please—”

Solas gripped her throat and lifted her chin, and Nare gasped as she met his gaze. His stormy eyes, his parted lips, the look on his face: she had never seen him looking quite this hungry or — or uncontrolled, somehow, like he was not only the dominant wolf she’d come to expect, but feral somehow. 

A fresh roar of lust pulsed through her blood and made her lightheaded. Then Solas lifted her chin even higher. “Did I give you the instruction to touch me, Nare?” 

Fuck, fuck, _please,_ the breathy snarl to his voice… “No,” she squeaked.

He squeezed her throat gently. “No, what?”

“No, professor!” she blurted. 

He exhaled slowly and pressed his thigh against her, and she mewled in distress at his torturously indirect touch. “P-please…” she whined. 

He kissed her again, a deep and hungry kiss where Nare was helpless to do anything but accept the dominant caress of his lips and tongue. Then he suddenly released her and took a small step back.

“Go tidy the table,” he said. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”

She dragged in a shaky breath and gazed pleadingly at him. He was still looming over her despite the space he’d put between them, and his breathing was slow but heavy. It was obvious that he was as desperate as she was, so why was he making her wait?

She clenched her fists and gazed longingly at him. “Professor, please—” 

He cut her off. “Do as I told you, Nare. Now.”

His tone was sharp, and for a split second, Nare considered just dropping to her knees and begging for his cock, but the thought left her as soon as it came. His expression was heated but hard, and there was no way she’d be getting what she wanted unless she did what he said. 

Clumsy with lust now, she stumbled over to the dining table and started gathering the empty bottles. Not five seconds later, however, Solas was stepping up behind her. 

He trailed his fingers over the nape of her neck, and she bit her lip to stop herself from moaning out loud. His fingers on her neck, trailing down her spine toward the zipper of her dress: gods, it was barely a touch, barely more than a brushing of his fingers, but it was _Solas_ touching her, Solas’s perfect elegant fingers on her body, and she couldn’t focus when he was touching her in this delicate way. 

He brushed aside the loose tendrils of hair at her nape and dropped his lips to her neck, and Nare couldn’t help herself: a sob of frustration burst from her lips. “Solas, please,” she whined. “I can’t wait.”

He kissed her neck again, then brushed his lips over the edge of her ear. “You told me you were staying here to tidy,” he murmured. “Are you going back on your word?”

His hands were roaming slowly over her body, smoothing over her hips and her ass through the barrier of her dress, and it was taking all of her willpower not to twist into his touch. She swallowed hard, then burst out another pleasured sob as he pressed his teeth gently into her neck. 

He lapped at her skin before kissing and nipping the side of her throat once more, and Nare gave up all pretense of tidying the table. She pushed aside the bottles she’d been gathering and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I didn’t stay to clean,” she said. “I stayed because I — I want you to fuck me.”

His mouth went still on her shoulder. Then he pressed his lips to her ear. “Say that again, Nare,” he whispered.

She dragged in a breath. “I want you to fuck me.”

His hand slid up to caress her breast. “Again,” he growled.

“I want you to fuck me!” she cried. 

He let out a long sigh, then curved his fingers around her throat. “You admit that you are going back on your word, then.”

“Y-yes,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to help to clean your apartment at all.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he chuckled: a sly, knowing little sound that made her skin feel like it was vibrating with need. 

“You are asking for punishment, aren’t you?” he murmured. His hand was sliding up the back of her thigh now, sliding under her dress, and — oh gods, he was pulling down her panties, edging them down to expose her bare bottom, fuck please… 

She arched her spine. “Ye—”

He spanked her suddenly, and she cried out with shock and pleasure. He squeezed her throat slightly and spanked her once more, and Nare burst out another pleasured sob. 

“Please!” she cried. “Please, please, Solas please—”

He released her suddenly and shoved aside the plates and bottles on the table. “Bend over and lay your cheek on the table,” he said roughly. “Do it now.”

Dizzy now with lust, she immediately did as she was told. Before her chest was even flush on the table, Solas was pushing up her skirt and pulling her panties down to her ankles. 

He sighed, and Nare whimpered and twisted her hips. His sigh was more of a growl than a true exhale, like he was a feral wolf and she was the prey he’d pinned down and chosen to devour, and she waited breathlessly for him to spank her, to stroke her bare back, to do something, anything, _please_... 

A few torturous seconds passed, and Nare arched her spine and whimpered. Then she heard the rustling of fabric.

Another pulse of longing throbbed between her legs. Was he — was Solas taking off his clothes? Was he getting naked and not even allowing her to look at him?

Stung by the injustice of it, she lifted her head from the table to glance over her shoulder at him, and another rush of want seized her. He wasn’t naked, but his button-up shirt was open and so were his pants, and as Nare watched, he pulled out his cock.

 _Oh my gods,_ she thought desperately. “Please,” she blurted. “Solas, please, I need—”

He lifted his head, and Nare stopped breathing. The hunger in his face, the ferocity… 

“Put your cheek on the table,” he snapped.

She did as he’d told her, and Solas placed one hand on the back of her neck to hold her still. “Did I tell you that you could look at me?” he demanded.

“No, professor,” she mewled.

“Correct,” he said. “I did not.” He spanked her.

She jolted and lifted her hips. “Please—”

He stroked her pussy, and she broke off, stunned into silence by pleasure and relief. The feeling of his fingers there where she needed him the most, stroking her wetness and spreading it over her sensitive flesh, priming her and making her ready to take his perfect hard cock… 

He petted her clit, and she writhed helplessly on the table. “Please,” she mewled.

“It appears to me that you’ve forgotten your place,” he said. “You seem to think that you have a say in what happens here.” 

His voice was smooth and pensive, and his fingers were moving smoothly over her clit in a perfect circular caress, and Nare lay passively on the table, nearly overwhelmed by pleasure and longing and lust. His voice, his authoritative words, his hand on the back of her neck and his fingers between her legs, the sheer fact that he was withholding his cock even though he clearly wanted to give it to her — all of it, everything he was doing and saying, it all felt like it was building up and spiralling in the deepest core of her body, and Nare clenched her fists and whimpered unabashedly as he continued to talk. 

“You are willful and disobedient,” he said. “You have defied my instructions several times. Those aren’t the actions of a good student.”

Oh gods, his fingers were growing more gentle between her legs — no, not just gentle. He was moving his fingers away from her clit altogether to stroke her folds instead, even though she was so close… 

She sobbed and scrabbled fruitlessly at the table with her nails. “P-please, please…”

He ignored her and continued to speak. “If you expect to get something from me, I expect your obedience. Is that something you can agree to, Nare?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, yes—”

He spanked her. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, professor!” she wailed.

He huffed, then smoothed his fingers over her clit once more. “Good,” he said. “Now be very good for me.” He stepped closer and bent close to her ear. “Come for me like a good girl.” 

She gasped convulsively and twisted her hips. His fingers circling between her legs, his warm hand holding her down on the table, his smooth low voice calling her a good girl— 

Her long-awaited and twice-foiled climax finally struck, bursting and uncoiling through her body. But before Nare even had the chance to cry out in rapture, Solas was entering her, the head of his cock sliding inside of her, oh fuck oh fuck _oh fuck please please_ — 

Her already-spasming muscles clenched around him, and she came a second time. Or maybe this was the first orgasm, she didn’t know, she couldn’t tell and she didn’t care — all she knew was that Solas was inside of her, his hand still on the back of her neck while his other hand clutched her hip, and her whole body was thrilling with so much pleasure that she literally could not breathe. 

She lay bonelessly on the table, stars bursting behind her eyes as the pleasure pounded through her fingertips and her calves in nearly-overwhelming waves. By the time the pleasure ebbed enough that she could drag in a breath, Solas’s fingers were gently stroking her nape, and the table beneath her cheek was damp with tears.

She forced her lungs to pull in a breath. “Solas…” she whimpered.

He ran his palm down along the length of her spine. “It’s all right,” he said softly. Then he pulled out of her. 

“No,” she moaned, and she struggled to push herself upright. “No, no, I need you…”

Solas turned her around to face him, then cradled her face in his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Are you all right?” he murmured. 

She pressed herself against his bare chest. “I need you,” she begged. “Please, Solas, please fuck me, I need you…”

He kissed her. His kiss was slower and more coaxing this time, his lips pressing gently at hers until she parted them for the gentle stroke of his tongue, but somehow this kiss was even more intense than when he was rough and hard. She moaned around his tongue and pressed her fingers into his bare abs, and when he peeled his lips away from hers, her whole body felt so acutely empty that she was once again on the verge of tears. 

She gazed pleadingly at him. “Please, professor, will you fuck me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Take off your dress and go to my bedroom.”

His voice was gentler than before, but his dominant tone was unmistakable, and Nare’s heart thumped with excitement. She turned away from him and hurried toward his bedroom, tugging impatiently at her own zipper as she did, too eager to care about whether she looked undignified. By the time she was in his bedroom, her dress was unzipped, and a second later it was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. 

She turned to face the door. A second later, Solas joined her, walking with that confident but understated gait of his that never failed to make her restless and wet. 

She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “No,” he said. “I want something very specific now. Lie back on the bed.”

Excited and intrigued, she climbed into the bed and laid back. And finally, at long last, Solas shucked off his shirt. 

“There is something I have been thinking about all night,” he told her, and he pushed off his pants.

Gods, his _cock._ It was a hard proud rise between his legs, and Nare wanted so badly to suck it. 

She shifted restlessly on the bed, then tore her gaze from his cock up to his face. “What’s that?” she asked distractedly. 

“Your neck,” he said. “Is it safe to assume you wore your hair this way to tempt me on purpose?”

She smiled, then let out a helpless little laugh. “Maybe. I know, I shouldn’t have…”

He smiled faintly at her, then crawled onto the bed to kneel at her feet. “You truly shouldn’t have. Because all I have been able to think about is the taste of your neck.” He placed his hands on her knees, then slowly eased her legs apart.

Nare inhaled shakily. His eyes were roaming carefully over her body now, like he was admiring every inch of her skin from her nipples down to her navel, and when his gaze dropped between her legs, she instinctively lifted her hips toward him. 

His smile melted into hunger once more, and a thrill of anticipation rippled through her blood. She parted her legs wider and tilted her hips toward him to invite his gaze, and she watched excitedly as his expression grew hard and ravenous once more. 

He suddenly surged toward her and pinned her wrists to the mattress, then dropped his lips to her neck and nipped the tendon in her throat, and she gasped with pleasured surprise. He dropped his hips and brushed the length of his cock against her cleft, and Nare jolted and cried out.

“Yes,” she yelped. “Solas—”

He released one wrist and put his hand over her mouth, then turned her head to the side and began ravenously kissing her neck, and Nare whimpered into his palm and arched her spine. He was rocking himself against her wetness while his tongue and teeth grazed her neck, and it was — gods, he was teasing her so much, giving her just enough to make her wild for the feeling of his cock filling her up, and it wasn’t _fair_. 

_Please,_ she thought, and she moaned as loudly as she could into his palm. Then he pressed her lips to her ear. “I want to leave a mark on you,” he hissed.

She gasped and arched, thrilled by the possessiveness of his words, and Solas continued to growl in her ear. “I have stared at your neck all evening, wishing I could leave a mark on the pure canvas of your skin.” He kissed her neck once more, a lingering kiss finished with a nip of his teeth, then lifted his lips to her ear once more. “All evening long, I have been tortured by the thought of marking you with my teeth and making it clear that you are mine.”

 _Mine._ With that one word, Nare’s chest felt like it was bursting with butterflies. The possessiveness in that word, the admission of how much he wanted her — that he wanted her as strongly and desperately as she wanted him… 

She writhed beneath him, desperate for him to fuck her and fill her up, but to no avail; his grip on her wrist and her mouth was implacable, and the slick slide of his cock was a slow and exquisite torture, and still, _still_ , he was talking in her ear. 

“I know I can’t leave such a mark on your body where it can be seen,” he murmured. “But I want to mark you, Nare. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror and think about me marking you, and I want you to know that you are mine.”

She nodded frantically, and Solas gently kissed her earlobe before speaking again. “I am going to mark your body with my come.”

A dizzying rush of want tore through her body. She nodded again, and Solas finally released her mouth.

She dragged in a breath, and he hooked her leg over his arm. Then, in one swift stroke, he was inside of her.

She cried out with completion, and Solas stifled her with a kiss. He rolled his hips into hers, pistoning into her in a smooth and steady rhythm while his tongue stroked the inside of her mouth, and Nare clutched his shoulders and his neck and finally his face as he kissed her and fucked her and gave her the precious relief that she’d been wanting so badly all night long.

He thrust into her smoothly and suckled her tongue, then broke from her lips and pressed his forehead to hers. “You are mine, Nare,” he snarled. “Mine to taste and feel and to fuck as I see fit. Is that understood?”

“Yes, professor,” she moaned. 

He nodded and breathed hard against her lips. “Mine,” he repeated. “My… my good girl.”

His voice was breathy and broken with pleasure, and Nare held her breath in excitement. His climax was obviously close, and when he came he was going to mark her and show her that she belonged to him and only to him—

He gasped, then pulled out of her and grabbed his cock, and his climax burst across her chest and between her breasts. Nare arched toward him, desperate for his come to paint as much of her body as possible, and when Solas gasped and squeezed his cock again, another creamy spurt landed hotly on her belly. 

“More,” she begged. 

He shuddered and stroked himself, releasing another glorious spurt of pleasure on her skin, and Nare stretched luxuriously beneath him, feeling somehow smug at the idea of being painted with Solas’s come. When he finally released his cock and opened his eyes, she smiled at him. 

He returned her smile, then released her leg to the bed and sat back on his heels. He rested his palms on her knees, and Nare adoringly watched his face as he studied her pleasure-painted skin.

His expression grew tender as he perused her body. By the time he was meeting her eye once more, his eyes were so soft with affection that they brought a lump to her throat. 

“You are absolutely beautiful,” he said softly. 

She swallowed hard. As much as she adored his dominance and his roughness when he fucked her hard, she loved his sweetness in the aftermath even more. The way he looked at her like this, with so much tenderness in his eyes and that soft curl of a smile on his lips, like she was something for him to marvel at in the same way that she marvelled at his paintings… 

He exhaled slowly and smoothed his palms over her thighs, and Nare frowned slightly. There was something slightly melancholy in his face now.

She sat up on her elbows. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

He looked up to meet her eye once more. “I should take you home,” he said softly.

Her heart twisted. He was right, but she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay here in Solas’s bed. She wanted to fall asleep with him and wake up in the morning and have coffee with him, then spend the rest of the weekend lounging together and talking and painting and having sex whenever they felt the urge. 

She just wanted to stay with him. But she couldn’t stay, and they both knew it.

The lump in her throat swelled painfully. She nodded, then pushed herself upright. “I’ll get cleaned up,” she said in a small voice. 

“I’ll help you,” he said.

She looked at him. He wanted to help her clean up? “Um, it’s — you don’t have to.”

“I would like to,” he said. “If you would let me.”

She nodded. She wasn’t sure what there was to help with, considering that she was just going to wipe off his semen, but she also wasn’t going to turn down a chance to spend more time in his presence.

He slid off of the bed and put on his pants, then ushered her to the bathroom. He plugged the bathroom sink and began filling it with warm water, then went to the linen closet and took out a washcloth. 

He came back to the sink and patted the counter. “Sit here, Nare.”

She did as she was told. Solas turned off the tap and dampened the washcloth, then wrung it out and turned to face her. 

He lifted her chin with two fingers, then began carefully wiping her chest with the warm damp cloth. His expression was soft and serious, and his hands were gentle as he tended to her, and she watched him with a knotted feeling in her chest.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He paused and met her eye, then smiled faintly, but his smile somehow made him look sadder. “I am thinking about a number of things,” he said.

“Like what?”

His smile curled slightly at the corners. “First and foremost, that I would have liked to admire my mark on you for a little bit longer.”

She smiled and relaxed a little at his humour. “So much for a sweet talker,” she teased. “Now you’re a dirty talker.”

“And you’re talking back,” he said pointedly.

She giggled, and Solas’s smiled widened. He rinsed the cloth and wrung it out, then continued wiping the come from her chest. “I was also wondering about something you said earlier tonight. Or rather, that you didn’t say.”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“You said you suspected that I was a vegetarian,” he said. “Or not much of a meat eater, in any case. Why did you suspect that?”

She smirked. “Oh. Yeah. Um, your come tastes like you’re a vegan.”

He looked up with raised eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

She laughed. “Your come. It, um, it — I can tell you don’t eat that much red meat or dairy because your come tastes good.”

He stared at her for a moment, then snorted an adorable little laugh. “I truly don’t know how to respond to that.”

She laughed as well. “It’s a good thing,” she assured him. “I like how you taste.”

His gaze darted from her eyes to her lips, and that one brief look sent a tingle of lust through her groin. She smiled shyly and dropped her gaze to her lap, but Solas stepped in front of her and lifted her chin once more. 

“The feeling is mutual, Nare,” he said softly, and he kissed her.

His kiss was gentle this time, a slow meeting of their lips with only a hint of tongue, and Nare cradled his neck in her palms as she gave herself over to his kiss. When he finally peeled his lips away, her heart was aching with longing. 

She stroked his face. “I don’t want to go home,” she whispered. She hadn’t meant to say this, not wanting to put pressure on him when their sexual relationship was supposed to come second to their supervisory ties. But… damn it, she loved him. It was cliché and stupid, so cliché that she couldn’t bear to admit it to him, but Nare was hopelessly in love with Solas, and it was getting harder and harder every day for her to hold it back. 

He pressed his forehead to hers. “This was the final thing that I was thinking about,” he said softly. “I… there is much that I should regret about my behaviour tonight. But the thing I regret the most is that you can’t stay the night.”

Her throat swelled. She nodded and closed her eyes, and they were both silent for a moment.

He leaned away from her, then kissed her forehead before dipping the washcloth in the sink once more. “I also regret to tell you that your hair is…” He paused, and Nare mustered a smile. 

“It’s a mess,” she said. “It’s okay, you can say it.”

He shook his head. “It’s not a mess. It is beautiful as always. But it doesn’t look as it did when you first arrived.” He wiped gently at her belly.

She chuckled and leaned back on her palms so he could clean her up more easily. “I bet. It’s okay, I’ll fix it a little before we leave. Besides, Athera will probably be asleep by the time I get back, so she won’t notice.”

He nodded and rinsed the cloth once more. His eyebrows were drawing together in a faint frown, and Nare watched him a little worriedly. It was hard to see him looking so preoccupied and sad. 

He turned to face her once more and patted her thigh. “Spread your legs for me?”

Her heart thumped, and her groin instantly started to tingle. “Spread my…? But, um, you didn’t finish in me,” she said awkwardly.

He smiled faintly. “I know. But you were very wet. Your thighs were slick with it.”

“Oh,” she said dumbly. “Um, okay.” She parted her knees, and when Solas began wiping the inside of her thighs, she forced herself not to react. 

_It’s nothing,_ she told herself firmly. _He’s just cleaning you up. Don’t get horny. It’s not going to turn into anything._

Unfortunately, her body was disinclined to listen to her logic. Solas’s palm was resting benignly on her one thigh while he wiped the other thigh clean, but the mere touch of his hands on her thighs was making her wet again. 

She pressed her lips together hard and looked away from him in an effort to control herself. Solas rinsed the washcloth again and wrung it out, then turned to face her again. 

Then he kneeled on the floor in front of her. 

A bolt of lust shot through her body. Solas pushed her legs apart, and she gasped. “Um,” she blurted. “Um—” 

He lifted her legs over his shoulders, and she leaned back on her palms with another gasp. “Solas,” she mewled. “Shouldn’t, um, shouldn’t we…”

She trailed off. His eyes were closed and he was caressing the inside of her thigh with his cheek, almost like he was savouring the softness of her skin against his own. 

Nare stared breathlessly at him, torn between desire and yearning as she studied the complex mixture of sadness and hunger in his handsome face. Then he pulled her closer to the edge of the counter and kissed her sex.

She gasped and rested her palm on his head. “Oh f-fuck…” she whined.

He exhaled softly, a warm breeze of breath that sent a shivering tingle of pleasure through her abdomen, then began lavishing her folds with deep open-mouthed kisses. He finished each kiss with a sweet caress of the tongue, caressing every plump fold of her flesh with his lips and tongue before sealing his lips over her clit. 

He slid his hands up to caress her waist and lapped gently at her clit, and Nare stared mindlessly at the ceiling, stunned with pleasure and disbelief at her own combination of fortune and misfortune. How was it possible for it to feel this fucking good every time she and Solas were together? How was it possible that every time he touched her, every time he stripped her bare and kissed her and fucked her, it felt so good and so fucking right?

How was it possible for her to feel so much at home with him, to want him so badly and to love him so much, and to be literally forbidden from being with him?

The ache in her chest pulsed painfully toward her throat. At the same time, Solas’s tongue was rolling slowly and carefully over her clit while the heat of his lips caressed her folds, and in the space of a few more painful heartbeats, her orgasm took hold.

She lifted her hips and cried out as the pleasure ratcheted through her limbs, and Solas continued to kiss her tenderly until her shuddering stilled. He wiped his mouth on her thigh, then rose slowly to his feet, leaving warm open-mouthed kisses on her belly and her ribs as he rose. 

He kissed her nipple, and she arched toward his mouth with a gasp. Then Solas was kissing her lips, his one hand cradling her neck while his other hand fumbled at the fly of his pants, and Nare’s heart was pounding with anticipation and longing and lust. 

But he was taking too long with his fly. Impatient now, she broke from his lips and reached down to undo his pants. He clasped her neck in both hands and kissed her again, and Nare whimpered into his mouth as she pulled down his zipper. 

She pulled out his cock and stroked it, and he groaned — gods, that groan, that perfect pleasured sound that always thrilled her. She wanted to hear him making that sound in her ear, right now, right this second…

She widened her legs and dragged him closer. He entered her in a smooth hard stroke, and they both gasped. He thrust into her and kissed her ardently, and Nare moaned around his tongue and gripped his bottom to pull him close. He groaned and broke from her kiss and dropped his mouth to her neck, and she gasped tilted her head to the side so he could taste her throat, and all the while they were fucking in a fast and hurried rhythm, pressured by time and unstoppable lust and the melancholy urgency of their imminent parting.

Solas licked her neck and clutched her hip and took her mouth once more in a sloppy kiss, and Nare gripped his shoulder and as they fucked. He was filling her up so perfectly with every stroke, filling her body in ways that no one else had ever been able to do, filling her chest with this painful swelling of love that she couldn’t share, not with him and not with anyone else—

He broke their kiss, then clasped her neck in his palm and pressed his mouth to her ear. “ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he gasped. 

Her heart stuttered. _Ar lath ma._ He — he loved her? Solas loved her? He was — he had just told her he loved her! 

He thrust into her again, a harder stroke than before, and she gasped with ecstasy. His thrusts were growing more erratic now and his breathing was ragged, and she could tell from the hardness of his thrusts and the look on his face that he was going to come. 

Desperate now both from the pleasure of his cock and the words he’d just said, she stroked his cheek. “Solas,” she mewled. “I—”

He kissed her hard, then moaned and shuddered, and Nare greedily accepted his kiss as he came inside of her. He thrust fitfully a few more times, kissing her all the while, and Nare sank gratefully into the bliss of his cock and his lips until his body relaxed. 

He leaned away from the kiss and pulled slowly out of her, then pressed his forehead to hers with a sigh. Nare breathed slowly with him, feeling giddy and scared and… and angry. Yes, she was angry — not at Solas, but at the rules and the circumstances and the stupid fucking ethics that were conspiring to keep them apart. 

She swallowed hard and stroked his neck. Then he kissed her lips once more. “I am so sorry, Nare,” he whispered. “We really should be getting you home.”

Her heart sank. Was he… he wasn’t going to say anything about — about what he’d just said?

Tongue-tied now with uncertainty, she watched as he tucked his cock back into his trousers, then dampened the washcloth and squeezed it out. He began wiping her thighs once more, and a rash of goosebumps rose on her skin.

He paused in his wiping and darted his eyes up to her face. “Are you… is the water cold?” 

She nodded dumbly, and he sighed. “ _Fenedhis._ I’m sorry. I’ll—”

“Stop saying sorry,” she said suddenly.

His eyebrows rose. “Pardon?”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” she said. “I told you, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His face softened with sadness, and for some reason, this only made her feel angrier. She swallowed hard, then took the cloth from his hand. “I can do it myself,” she said. She slid off of the counter and started wiping herself up. 

Solas stood there for a moment, but Nare refused to look at him as she wiped away his come. Then he stepped away. “I’ll finish getting dressed,” he said softly. “Take your time.”

She nodded and didn’t look at him as he left the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, tears started to prick her eyes. 

_Damn it,_ she thought. Why was she upset? He really hadn’t done anything wrong. They were in these shitty circumstances because _she_ hadn’t been able to leave him alone, so why was she mad at him?

She sniffed hard, then quickly washed up and made a token effort to fix her hair before leaving the bathroom. When she returned to Solas’s bedroom, it was to find him fully dressed and sitting at the edge of the bed. 

She faltered in the doorway, feeling vulnerable without her clothes, and Solas stood up. “Is everything all right?” he said gently.

She nodded and quickly put on her dress, then realized that she didn’t know where her panties were. 

_Fuck,_ she thought. Then Solas approached her. “Here,” he said, and he held out her underwear.

“Thanks,” she said in a small voice, and she pulled her panties on. “So, um, I guess we should go…”

He tipped her chin up. “ _Ar lath ma,_ Nare,” he said softly. 

Her heart leapt. She gaped at him, suddenly dizzy with hope. “You do?”

“I do,” he said. “But I wish I had not said it.”

Her belly jolted with nerves. “Why?”

“This is complicated enough without the added factor of my feelings for you,” he said softly. “My supervision of you should take precedence here. I don’t want to distract you from your degree and your career.”

She frowned slightly. The added factor of _his_ feelings? Did he think his feelings were one-sided? That was ridiculous. 

“I love you too, Solas,” she told him.

His eyebrows leapt up. Then he huffed and rubbed his chin. “I wish that it didn’t thrill me to hear you say that.”

She wrinkled her nose, nonplussed by his less-than-enthusiastic response. “Does that mean you _are_ thrilled, or…?”

He smiled faintly at her. “I am, in a way. But…” He sighed and slowly rubbed his chin. “Nare, I don’t know what we are meant to do about this.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? We can just keep doing what we’ve been doing already.”

He cocked his head. “You truly believe we can continue as we have done?”

“What other choice is there?” she said. “It’s not like we’re going to stop seeing each other.”

He licked his lips, and her heart sank. “Wait,” she said weakly. “Are you—”

“No,” he said hastily. “No, I — that is not what I was thinking. I am just… thinking.” He rubbed his forehead, and Nare waited tensely for him to speak again. 

A long moment later, he sighed, then let out a weary-sounding laugh. “I really should not have allowed you to stay tonight.”

Her gut twisted. “Why?”

“Because…” He rubbed his chin once more. “It may prove to be our undoing.” 

“But why?” she insisted. “I don’t understand.” 

“Felassan,” he said. 

“What about Felassan?” she asked.

“He knows me too well,” Solas said. “And he is far too observant.”

She frowned. “He was drinking tonight.”

“So was I, unfortunately,” Solas said wryly.

“You only had two glasses of port,” she argued.

“If I had had none, I would not have let you stay,” he said. “And we would not be in this predicament.”

She wilted. Why was he being so grim? “What exactly do you think is going to happen?” she asked.

“Nothing, if I can play my cards intelligently,” he said.

Nare shot him a matter-of-fact look. “From the looks of that gwent tournament tonight, I think you’re going to be okay then.”

He shot her a quick smile, then sighed. “Nare, I apologize. This isn’t what I—”

“Stop apologizing,” she said loudly. “Just stop. You didn’t do anything wrong. If we get caught, it’s my fault.”

“Not according to the university legislation,” he reminded her. “You know this.”

 _I don’t care about the fucking university legislation,_ she thought mulishly. But logically, she knew he was right. 

She folded her arms. “Fine. What do you want to do, then?”

“Truly?” he said. “I would like to take off your dress and lie you down on my bed once more.”

She relaxed. Finally, at long last, he was smiling again — a rueful smile, but a smile nonetheless. 

It was a start. She unfolded her arms. “Sweet talker,” she said playfully.

He chuckled, then took her hand. “Come here, _vhenan_.” 

_Vhenan._ He was calling her his heart! Her own heart thrilled, and she smiled helplessly at him as he pulled her close. 

His smile widened, and he kissed her. Nare kissed him back, but her heart was fluttering giddily like a flock of hummingbirds in her chest, and before she knew it, she was laughing against his lips. 

He leaned away from her. “What is so amusing?”

She grinned at him, then jumped into his arms. He easily caught her and wrapped her legs around his waist. “I take it you’re no longer angry with me?” he said.

She twined her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she told him.

His expression softened. “I love you as well, Nare.” 

“Then let’s just keep doing what we’re doing,” she said.

His smile became a bit of a grimace. “That is easier said than done.”

“Let’s try,” she urged. “I love having you supervise me, and I love the time we spend together. It doesn’t have to change.”

He sighed, then shot her a wry smile. “Once again, against my better judgment, I find myself incapable of saying ‘no’ to you.”

Nare wrinkled her nose. “I take it back. You’re not a sweet talker after all.”

He chuckled, then brushed his lips to hers. “And _you_ are being rather rude to your professor,” he murmured.

Another rush of giddy joy filled her chest. She beamed at him, then kissed him enthusiastically, buoyed up by the thrill of knowing that she and Solas felt the same way.

 _Ma’avin,_ she thought happily, confident in her belief that everything would be just fine. As long as she and Solas were on the same page together, she was certain that they’d be able to navigate any trouble that came their way, and everything would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Athera and Abelas! Maybe by the weekend? Maybe?
> 
> I am [Pikapika on Tumblr,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artiste who BLESSES OUR EYEBALLS ~~and panties~~ is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) xoxo


	41. Ardent

###  ATHERA 

“Athera.”

She jolted and opened her eyes. Slowly and blearily, she realized that they were parked behind her apartment building, and Abelas’s hand was on her shoulder.

He squeezed her shoulder gently. “We have arrived.” 

She rolled her tongue around inside her mouth and winced. Her mouth was dry and tasted absolutely vile, and she was sure she must look as terrible as she felt. 

She smiled weakly, but she was too humiliated to look Abelas in the eye. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for the ride, I — I really appreciate it, and I’m really sorry for putting you out.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle, eager to drown her shame in a hot shower.

“Just a moment,” Abelas said. Then, to her dismay, he unbuckled his own seatbelt and stepped out of the car. 

Athera watched dumbly as he rounded the car, then opened her door and held out his hand. She took his hand somewhat reluctantly and allowed him to help her out of the car, averting his gaze all the while. 

“Thanks,” she mumbled. “You don’t have to… I’m okay now, I promise. I’ve got it from here.”

“I would prefer to see you safely to your door, if you would permit it,” he said.

She hesitated. As much as she hated to admit it, she was feeling pretty shaky on her feet — probably not helped by the fact that she was wearing heels. 

“Okay,” she said in a tiny voice. “Thank you.”

He nodded, then ushered her gently toward the building with one hand at the small of her back. He was doing that bodyguard-y thing again, like he’d done that time at the mall to stop people from jostling her, but Athera was too ashamed to enjoy the feeling of his big tall body looming protectively behind her.

She tapped her key fob to open the door. Abelas held the door to let her through, and she silently led him through the short hallway to the stairs. Once they were at the base of the stairs, she started taking off her shoes. 

“What are you doing?” Abelas said sharply.

She paused and looked up at him. “Um, taking off my shoes?”

“Why?” he asked. “The cleanliness of this floor is unreliable.” 

She made a little face. “Honestly, I’m too tired to face the stairs with heels on.”

He frowned, and his gaze darted to the two flights of stairs. Then he nodded. “I’ll carry you.” 

Her belly flip-flopped. “You – huh?”

“I will carry you,” he said. “If that is acceptable to you.”

“I – um–” She faltered for a response, flustered by his offer. He was offering to carry her up two flights of stairs just because she didn’t want to walk them in heels? It was like something from a Hercinian drama – so thoughtful and sweet. So… romantic.

 _But it’s not romantic,_ she thought with a thump of embarrassment. He was only offering to carry her because she was a drunken mess. Well, only a half-drunken mess now, but still. 

“May I?” he said.

She nodded, too embarrassed to speak but not enough to refuse his offer. He stepped closer to her, and then, more quickly yet gently than she would have imagined, he scooped her into his arms. 

She hastily hooked her free hand around his neck. He was moving gracefully up the stairs as though her weight was insignificant, and she gazed stupidly at the sharpness of his jawline as they ascended the stairs. 

Creators, he smiled nice. Whatever cologne he used had a clean woodsy scent, but it wasn’t so heavy as to hide the warm fragrance of his skin.

A swell of heat warmed in her belly, and she forced herself to ignore it. This was hardly the ideal time to be wondering if his skin tasted as good as it smelled. 

Once they were on the landing of the second floor, she expected him to put her down, but he didn’t. Instead, he glanced down the hall. “Which apartment is yours?” he asked.

She nervously licked her lips and pretended she hadn’t been thinking about pressing her nose to the side of his throat. “The, um, one at the end,” she said in a small voice.

He nodded and carried her to the end of the hall, then carefully set her on her feet, and she continued to avoid his gaze as she found her footing. “Thanks again,” she said sheepishly. “I promise, I’m—”

“Athera, I am sorry,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “What? Why?”

“I am to blame for your illness,” he said.

She stared at him with growing bemusement. “Wha… why do you think that?”

He ran a hand over his braid. “Nare cautioned me that you should not eat too much, but I… I was unforgivably distracted. I served you too much to eat, and that is why you got sick.”

She wilted a bit. “Oh, Abelas. Don’t tell me you’ve been blaming yourself all this time?”

He frowned at her. “Of course I have. I am to blame.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you’re not!” she exclaimed. “It’s — honestly, it was just…” She sighed. “I wasn’t paying attention, so if it’s anyone’s fault, it was mine. Definitely not yours.”

He pursed his lips and looked away, and Athera’s booze-slowed brain slowly realized something. “Wait, is this — is this why you were being so quiet in the car?”

“I am always quiet,” he said stiffly. 

“More quiet than usual,” she amended. She eyed him hopefully. “You’re not mad at me?”

“What reason would I have to be mad at you?” he said incredulously.

“Because I was acting like an irresponsible idiot?” she suggested.

“You were not irresponsible,” he said sharply. “ _I_ was irresponsible. I promised I would care for you, and I failed to fulfill that promise.”

She smiled at him. “You’re such an older brother.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She winced. Was that an insensitive thing to say? “I just mean you’re… it’s obvious that you’re used to looking out for younger siblings. But you don’t have to look after me, I promise.”

His frown was deepening. _Oh dear,_ she thought sadly. Had she said something really wrong? She opened her mouth to apologize, but Abelas spoke before she could find the words. “You seem deeply concerned that I regard you as a child. I have told you before that you need not worry about that.”

“Oh, no, that’s…” She let out a little laugh. “I really didn’t mean to, um, imply that or anything.” Then she cocked her head. “Although you do call me _da’len_ sometimes.”

“Only after you have called me _hah’ren,_ ” he said.

His tone was dry, and his expression was softer now. Athera smiled at him, feeling fluttery at the warmth in his face.

Then she remembered what Nare had said about a _hah’ren/da’len_ dynamic being like a daddy thing.

Oh spirits, her cheeks were going hot. Why was it so hot in here? She dropped his gaze and fumbled in her purse for her keys. “Okay, well, um, I — I don’t want to keep you any longer when you’ve already been so patient with me…”

“You are not keeping me,” he said. “I am genuinely happy to assist.”

She paused and looked at him. His expression was stern as usual, but there was something slightly wistful about the cant of his eyebrows now.

That nervous tingly feeling in her tummy grew stronger. Flustered and pleased, she ran her fingers along the side of her bun. “And I’m…. I’m really happy you drove me home. I mean, not happy you had to drive me at all because it sucks that we had to leave the party,” she said hastily, “but I… I’m — thank you for offering. And bringing me home. And chatting with me now, I guess.” She laughed nervously. “I know you don’t love idle small talk.”

“Any talk that I share with you does not feel small,” he said.

Her heart flipped. That was such a sweet thing to say. He was – aw, he was just so _sweet!_ And those clear golden eyes of his were so warm as they traced over her face… 

Without thinking, her still-slightly-drunk mouth opened. “Do you want to come in?”

His eyebrows leapt up. “Excuse me?”

Oh shit, that sounded provocative. “For tea,” she blurted, then she shook her head. “No, not tea, you don’t drink it at night. For a, um… a biscuit?” No, that was stupid too, he almost never ate sweets. She floundered for a reason for him to come inside that wasn’t suggestive, especially since she honestly hadn’t meant to be suggestive. 

Not that she wouldn’t do suggestive things with him if he wanted to do them with her, but — oh gods, how could she be thinking about this? She’d just been _barfing_ earlier tonight, for spirits’ sake. Nobody in their right mind would want to do anything suggestive with her after knowing she’d been barfing. Not that she even meant to be suggestive… 

Abelas was still staring at her. She dropped his gaze, hot with humiliation. “We didn’t get much time to talk tonight,” she mumbled. “I… if you wanted to come inside, we could talk some more…? But you don’t have to, since we’re having brunch tomorrow,” she babbled, “so you can just go home and rest and we can talk tomorrow—”

“Athera,” he interrupted.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“I would be glad to stay and talk,” he said.

Her tummy leapt with pleasure. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. “And this way, I can ensure that you settle in safely.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Abelas, you don’t have to worry about me, honestly.” Feeling more cheerful than she had all night, she unlocked the apartment and stepped inside.

She flipped on the foyer light and placed her shoes by the door, then waved one arm at the apartment. “Well, here it is! Home sweet home! You can hang your coat by the door and put your shoes there.” She pointed at the shoe rack, pleased that she’d thought to tidy it up earlier this afternoon. 

He nodded, and she took her coat off and beamed at him. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to get a quick shower.”

His eyebrows rose. “Shower?”

“Yeah, and brush my teeth,” she said. “I feel super gross—” She broke off, her cheeks pricking with embarrassment. Oh gods, she’d just mentioned taking a shower to Abelas. She’d basically just told him she was going to get naked while he was here. And they hadn’t even gone on a single solitary date yet! 

Her face was flaming. Why did still have to be just tipsy enough to say things that felt way too forward? Why? _Why?_

She awkwardly tugged her ear. “I’m — I’m sorry, that was—” 

“It’s all right, Athera,” he said firmly. “Take your time and get refreshed.” He took off his coat and blazer and neatly hung them up, then eased off his shoes and stepped slowly into the apartment, and Athera eyed him with a mixture of giddiness and nerves as he looked around. 

Gods, he was tall. Maybe she was just used to only seeing herself and the girls in here, but Abelas seemed to take up so much more space. Well, technically he did take up more space since he was a foot taller than her and way more muscly—

He turned to face her, and she dropped her gaze to hide the fact that she’d been ogling him. “Okay, make yourself at home, there’s another bathroom down that hall if you need it and you can have whatever you want in the kitchen,” she babbled. “Or — or watch something on Netflix if you want!” She gestured at the TV in the living room. “You might find some good documentaries for working out!”

He smiled faintly. “I will find a way to occupy myself, Athera. Take your time.”

She smiled stupidly at him, then hurried to her bedroom to change into her bathrobe. She quickly took off her shirtdress and laid it on the armchair in the corner, then reached around to start removing her bra.

The thought of Abelas being in the living room made her pause, however. Not out of apprehension or anything like that, but… but with a furtive sort of thrill. Abelas was here in her apartment and he was so stunningly attractive, and she was standing in her bedroom about to take off all her clothes.

A flush of warmth pulsed beneath her skin, and she frowned at her reflection in the mirror of her makeup table. _Shut up, Athera,_ she told herself. _It’s not like that._ Clearly she needed a hot shower to burn off the remaining booze and get her mind out of the gutter.

Almost belligerently, she took off her bra and panties and placed them in the laundry bin, then swiftly put on her fluffy and not-at-all-sexy bathrobe, bundling herself carefully from neck to knees so she couldn’t think too hard about being naked while Abelas was fully dressed in the other room. Properly armoured now in her big bathrobe, she stepped out of the bedroom.

She took a step toward the bathroom and hesitated. Then, unable to resist, she tiptoed down the hall toward the living room.

She peeked into the living room. Abelas was standing in the middle of the room with his back to her, and he was studying the collage of photos that decorated the walls.

For a quick second, Athera admired the broadness of his shoulders and the lean taper of his waist, all showcased by his tight black mock-neck sweater. Then she shook herself and backed away. 

_See, he’s being totally polite,_ she told herself sternly. _I bet he’s not even thinking about me being naked._ Quickly and silently, before he could realize she’d been watching him, she scurried back down the hall and went to the bathroom for her shower.

###  ABELAS 

Abelas gazed unseeingly at the photographs on the living room wall. Athera was in her bedroom changing for her shower, but he dared not think about that. It would be unforgivably roguish to imagine her removing her clothes just a few meters away, especially after she had been so ill.

He ignored the thrumming restlessness in his gut and stared fixedly at the wall. In the back hallway, he heard the soft _snick_ of a door opening, and a few seconds later, the _click_ of another door closing, followed by the faint sounds of a shower being turned on. 

Then he heard the muffled sound of pop music emanating from the closed bathroom. 

He relaxed slightly and smiled to himself. _Listening to her music even while she is showering,_ he thought. Was there ever a moment of the day when she wasn’t listening to music?

Feeling more at ease now thanks to the familiar muted sound of her music, he started to actually look at the photographs that decorated the living room wall. The photographs showed a broad variety of subjects: sweeping landscapes and energetic cityscapes, close-up shots of rain-soaked leaves and moss and stones, softly-lit portraits of individuals or couples or families, and candid group shots of people having fun at social gatherings. Nare, Tamaris, and Athera featured in some of the photographs, and Abelas began inspecting the wall more carefully for the ones that contained Athera. 

His gaze lit on one photograph featuring Athera hugging two older elves: a shyly-smiling man in glasses with wavy chestnut hair, and a raven-haired woman with Athera’s tawny skin and dimpled grin. Athera was laughing into the camera, and Abelas smiled helplessly in response to her captured joy. 

_Her parents. They must be,_ he thought as he studied the photograph. Feeling slightly wistful now, he continued to look for images that featured Athera. She was so lovely in all of them, smiling and laughing and hugging her family members and friends, and by the time he had inspected all of the photographs that she was in, his chest felt like it was swollen with warmth. 

He sat slowly on the living room couch and tapped his fingers on his knees, wishing he had a pen and paper. The only implement he had for writing anything down was his phone, however. Feeling faintly disgruntled, he took his phone out of his blazer pocket and tapped through to the notes app. He’d just have to make sure he wrote this down later in a proper notebook.

He began to type on his phone, pausing every now and again to study the wall of photographs and to think. When Athera poked her head around the corner of the living room some time later, he was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice her right away. 

She sidled into the room, and he jolted in surprise. “Ah,” he said. “You’re — how do you feel?” He rose from the couch, quickly tucking his phone back into his blazer pocket as he did. 

“Much better, thanks,” she said with a smile. She skimmed her fingers along her hairline as though to tuck her hair behind her ear, but her hair was still bound up in the elegant style she’d been wearing at the party. Her clothes, however, could not be more different than what she’d been wearing earlier tonight: bare feet and leggings, and an overly-large sweatshirt with sleeves that reached almost to her fingertips. She looked very casual but _very_ lovely — and very petite, thanks to the oversized sweatshirt. For some reason, seeing her dressed so comfortably that made his heart squeeze.

He nodded silently and continued to admire her. Her cheeks turned pink, and she ducked her head. “Did you — would you like something to drink?” she said. She shifted into the kitchen and pushed up her sleeves. “Water or almond milk or, um, herbal tea maybe? We have a lot of herbal tea, Nare really likes different kinds of tea so she always stocks up when it’s on sale—”

He cut her off gently. “Why are you nervous?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes — those wide, beautiful grey eyes. “Wha— um, why do you say that?”

“You are speaking particularly volubly,” he said. “Am I doing something to make you nervous?”

She smiled. “‘Volubly’?”

He frowned slightly. “Is that not a word in the common tongue?”

“No, it is,” she said. “I’ve just — you’re the only person I’ve ever heard to use it.”

He grunted. “This appears to be a common problem for me.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said. “I love that you use uncommon words. I like being reminded of how many words there are for stuff.” She giggled. “Okay, that sounded really dumb. But do you ever feel like sometimes we just forget how many words there are in the common tongue? Or, like, any language really. And we just, you know, overuse the ones that we think of the most often. It makes me sad for thesauruses.”

He watched her fondly as she filled and flicked on the kettle. “Athera, if my presence is making you uncomfortable, I won’t impose.”

She turned to look at him. “Uncomf…? No! No, it’s not that. It’s…” She ran her fingers along her hairline again. “If anything, I’m nervous because I want you here. I just didn’t…” She shrugged and plucked at her sleeve. “I didn’t expect our first date to involve you keeping an eye on me after I got too drunk at a work party.”

He tilted his head. “Would you consider this to be our first date, then?”

She looked up once more with wide eyes. “N-no — oh spirits. I didn’t mean to say it was a date. I meant our, you know, first time spending some time together just the two of us.” She grimaced. “This definitely is _not_ a date. I promise I won’t be so crappily dressed for our date tomorrow.” 

“Will you feel well enough for our date tomorrow?” he asked seriously.

“Of course!” she said. “Honestly, I feel almost totally fine now.” She tilted her head. “Aside from a headache. And I’m starving. But I refuse to eat anything until tomorrow just in case.”

He relaxed slightly; he had been faintly worried that she wouldn’t be well enough for their date tomorrow, so this was a relief. “I am glad to hear that.”

She smirked as she poured hot water into a mug. “What, that I won’t be eating anything else?”

He gave her a chiding look. “No. That you feel well enough for brunch tomorrow. I was — I _am_ looking forward to it.”

She smiled at him — a slow and breathtaking smile that made his heart pound. “Me too,” she said softly. 

Spirits save him, she was lovely. Feeling slightly awkward now, he ran a hand over his braid, then gestured at the living room wall. “I… I was studying your photographs.”

“Yeah, I saw you looking,” she said brightly. “That was our little moving-in project when we first moved here, so we could make it feel like home.”

“These photographs were not all taken at your reserve, though,” he said quizzically. He recognized some of the cityscapes in particular from various cities in the Free Marches.

“Oh no no, they’re from all over the place,” she replied. “There’s some from the reserve, from Kirkwall when we were there for school, from trips and stuff… we don’t have any from here in Val Royeaux yet, though. We haven’t had time to get them printed.”

He nodded and idly studied the wall. A minute later, Athera joined him with a mug in her hands. She sipped from the mug, then met his eye, and her eyebrows jumped up. “Oh shi— I mean, shoot, I — did you want some herbal tea? I didn’t even offer to make you some.”

He smiled faintly and shook his head. “No, thank you. And you did offer. I just forgot to reply.”

She relaxed. “Okay, phew. I thought I was being the worst hostess!” She tilted her head. “Are you sure you don’t want some, though? This tea is hazelnut and vanilla flavour. Not quite vanilla-and-almond, but it’s really nice. You can try mine if you want.”

His belly flipped, and he darted a glance at her steaming cup. She was offering for him to drink from her cup? 

She wilted. “Oh fu— shit. I’m doing the thing again, aren’t I? The eating-from-my-spoon thing? Abelas, I’m sorry—”

“Athera,” he said firmly.

She made a little face. “Yes?”

He studied her for a moment. Then, very deliberately, he reached for her mug. 

Her eyes grew wide. Without breaking from her wide-eyed gaze, Abelas carefully wrapped his fingers around the mug, grazing her fingers gently with his own as he took the mug from her hands.

Her breath hitched audibly. Feeling strangely bold now, he held her gaze as he brought the mug to his lips and took a sip. 

The autumnal flavour of hazelnut and vanilla filled his mouth, and he savoured the woodsy warmth as it spread across his tongue. He swallowed the tea, then carefully held out the mug for Athera. 

She took a deep breath through her parted lips, and Abelas carefully watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed hard. Then, finally, she took the mug back from him. “Thanks,” she said huskily.

“Thank _you_ ,” he said quietly. “And you are correct. It is a nice tea.”

She nodded and nibbled her lower lip, and he admired the flush of pink that painted her cheekbones. Then she darted him another glance. “Do you… should I make a cup for you?”

He greedily eyed her lovely flushed cheeks and the velvet-smooth nape of her neck. Then, finally, he shook his head. “Perhaps another time. For now, a taste is enough.”

She nodded again and sipped her tea. A tiny smile was curling her lips, and Abelas studied her with a distinct simmer of heat in his abdomen — a heat he hadn’t felt for a long time.

For a minute, they stood there facing the wall of photographs, Athera sipping her tea while Abelas tried not to think too much about her lips gracing the edge of the mug. Then, finally and true to form, Athera broke the silence. “Can you guess who took the photos?”

“Are — did one person take all of these photos?” he asked.

“No, they’re a mixture of mine and Nare’s and Tamaris’s, and other people’s too,” she said. “But can you tell which ones are mine and which ones were taken by Nare or Tam?”

He cocked his head and thought for a minute. “The group photographs,” he said finally. “I would hypothesize that you arranged many of them.”

She smiled. “Yes! I really like group photos. If you can herd everyone into them, at least. I love seeing everyone so happy in them.”

He nodded, then pointed to some of the macro photographs of stones and plants. “These magnified images of nature elements do not seem like they were taken by you.”

She tilted her head. “How do you figure?”

“They strike me as the type of image that an artist would capture,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “That’s — wow, you’re right! Tamaris took those. She likes zooming in to see the patterns and textures in nature and stuff. She uses them as inspiration for her tattoo designs.”

He nodded again. This made sense, given what Athera had told him about Tamaris’s tattoo practice. “The portraits are by Nare, I assume,” he said. 

“Yep!” Athera said. “Most of them are, at least. All the best ones, really.”

He nodded slowly, then narrowed his eyes at the photographs. “The landscapes, then. And the cityscapes. I… am not certain who would have taken those. Are they yours?”

She grinned. “Trick question. We all contributed landscapes to the photo wall.”

He huffed in amusement, and she giggled. “I do really like taking landscape and cityscape shots, though. I even have a wide-angle lens for big sweeping shots, though I’m still not that good at using it.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Is photography a hobby of yours?”

She made an equivocal noise. “A little bit. It’s like a really casual hobby. I usually get really into taking photos when I go on a trip, and then I forget about it once I’m home. What about you?”

He gave her a quizzical look, and she elaborated. “Do you take a lot of photos when you go places?”

“Ah,” he said. “No. The majority of my travels in the past few years have not been for leisure, so it did not occur to me to document them with photographs.”

Her smile faded slightly. “You’ve only travelled for work?”

“Not only, but primarily,” he said. “Particularly since I became a professor.”

“You never had a chance to enjoy the trips while you were away for work?” she said. “Like, even when the work part of the trip is done?”

“Rarely,” he said. He was starting to feel a little defensive now. Felassan and even Solas used to give him a hard time for not partaking in more leisure activities when he went to conferences or other work-related trips, but he had never been able to fully relax during such trips.

Athera didn’t reply. She was eyeing him in an oddly penetrating way, almost as though she was seeing something in his face that she hadn’t seen before.

He frowned and folded his arms. “What is it?”

“Living in Val Royeaux feels like work to you, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“I moved here for my work,” he said. “You know this.”

“I know,” she said. “But you think of it like being work, don’t you?” She gestured vaguely. “Like, everything about being here feels like work. It’s like you don’t _live_ here, you just work here.”

He studied her with rising confusion. Was he missing some subtle subtext, or was she just stating the obvious? “Yes,” he said slowly. 

She gazed at him in silence for a moment longer, then exhaled slowly. “This… wow, this makes so much sense now.”

“What does?” he said testily.

She straightened and lifted her chin. “I’m going to show you how fun it can be to live here,” she announced. “Like, _really_ live here.”

“Why would you wish to do that?” he said a little resentfully. “You moved here for work as well. This city — this country is not your home.”

“Home is wherever you make it,” she said easily. “Or at least that’s how _I_ feel about it. I’ve lived in three different places now, which I’ll admit isn’t much, but I’ve made a good home in all of them.” She waved her hand again. “I mean, it took a while before I felt at home in Kirkwall, but after I got a hold on my anxiety, it totally felt like home.”

He blinked at her, surprised by this. “You truly feel at home here? You have only lived here for few months.”

“Honestly, I felt at home here within the first week,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows, and she sat cross-legged on the couch before going on. “I had Nare and Tamaris, and we made this apartment all cozy, and we explored the neighbourhood and found the best restaurants — well, me and Nare did at least,” she amended. “Tamaris wanted to stay at home a lot of the time. Anyway, the, um — my point is that home is where you make it. It’s wherever you decide to build it. At least that’s what _I_ think.”

“What if one already has a home?” he asked. “Do you feel that it is possible to build a secondary home?”

“Of course!” she said. “I mean, I call this apartment my home and it _is_ home, but the reserve with my parents is also home.” 

Abelas frowned as he thought about this. Having more than one home… but Arlathan was his home. The house where he’d grown up with his parents and his siblings was his home. He had genuinely never considered the possibility of any other place becoming even a secondary home. 

“You really don’t feel at home in Val Royeaux, do you?” Athera said gently. “Not even having lived here for a few years?”

He shook his head. There was no point denying how he felt about living here.

“Would you like to feel more at home here?” she asked. “I mean it when I say I’ll help.”

He hesitated. What Athera was suggesting sounded so foreign — to feel truly at home in more than one place. But if he and Solas were to be working in Val Royeaux for three more years… Perhaps it would be worth seeing if he could feel any more at ease in this country.

And if there was any person in this country who could make him feel more at ease, it was Athera.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly. Then he raised an eyebrow at her. “It depends on what you had in mind.”

She chuckled. “Challenge accepted. I’ll start thinking of fun things we can do to make you feel more at home here.”

He nodded and looked at the photographs once more. Then Athera spoke again. “Don’t you want to sit down?”

He glanced at her. She was curled up on the couch with her mug cradled in her sleeve-covered hands, and she looked endearingly cozy. Not just cozy, in fact, but sleepy. 

He unfolded his arms. “Are you tired?”

“No,” she said. “I’m—” She suddenly broke off and yawned into her hand.

Abelas gave her a chiding look and sat beside her. “Perhaps you should get some sleep.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, I don’t want to sleep,” she said. “It’s only like nine o’clock.”

“It is nearly ten,” he pointed out.

“That’s no better,” she complained. “That’s so early!”

“It is not far from the usual time that I retire for bed,” he said.

Her eyes went wide once more. “Oh no, are _you_ tired?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But I have no reason to be. You, however, were ill.”

She wilted. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“It is not a matter of living it down,” he told her. “It is simply a matter of being well enough for our date tomorrow.”

A slow smile lit her face, and she let out a soft little laugh. “You’re a tricky one, using our date against me.”

“I’m not opposed to using whatever arguments are at my disposal to convince you,” he said.

She laughed more heartily. “That’s just an academic way of saying you’ll fight dirty to get your way.”

“I never fight dirty,” he said. “That would be dishonourable.” He lifted one eyebrow. “I will ‘argue dirty’ if I must, however.”

A grin lit her face, and he watched fondly as her cheeks turned pink again. She laughed and idly flicked the side of her mug. “Okay, you win. I am pretty tired.” She gave him a sideways look. “But I’m having a nice time with you.”

“As I am with you,” he said gently.

She beamed at him, then nibbled the inside of her cheek for a moment before speaking again. “Do you… will you hang out with me until I fall asleep?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, um… I-I have a nice armchair in my room,” she said. “You can sit with me and we can keep talking until I fall asleep.”

Sit with her? In her bedroom? He lifted his eyebrows, surprised by her offer, and she dropped his gaze and went on in a rush. “Or is that dumb? Maybe that’s rude to make you sit with me while I get to lie in bed like a lazy butt.” She gulped the last of her tea, then let out another little laugh. “You should — um, maybe just ignore me. I must still be drunk.”

He stared at her, unsure what to say. She was inviting him to sit in her bedroom so casually? He had never before been in a woman’s bedroom for reasons that weren’t sexual. Unless… was Athera suggesting something sexual?

He immediately discarded the thought. She looked far too discomfited for that to be the case. Besides, she had asked him specifically not to allow her to kiss him tonight, so she couldn’t be suggesting anything sexual.

Unfortunately, his body was already reacting to the mere thought of Athera suggesting anything sexual. Feeling slightly discomfited himself at his inappropriate thoughts, he shifted slightly on the couch.

Athera stood up suddenly. “I’m sorry, I—”

He hastily stood as well. “I would like to continue talking,” he blurted. 

Her mouth popped open in an ‘o’ of surprise. “R-really?” she said. “I — okay! Yeah, okay. Um, well, my bedroom is this way.” She took her mug and placed it in the kitchen sink, then hurried down the hall, and Abelas followed her more slowly, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart. 

When he arrived at Athera’s bedroom, she was hauling a comfortable-looking padded armchair from the corner of the room over to the side of the double bed. She looked up at him and smiled, then gestured at the chair. “Ta-dah! Deluxe chair for sitting in and chatting!”

He smiled faintly as he entered her bedroom. The overhead light was off, and the room was dimly and cozily lit by a bedside lamp and a string of fairy lights hung over the vanity mirror. 

He seated himself in the chair and continued to look around, and Athera laughed a little nervously. “Don’t judge my room too much. It’s a little messy. I wasn’t expecting visitors.”

He shook his head. “There is nothing to judge,” he said vaguely. Truly, her bedroom was as tidy as her office. Then his gaze landed on a painting that was hung on the wall by the door. 

It was a watercolour portrait of Athera, and it was breathtaking. In the portrait, her elbows were resting on a table and her chin was resting on her folded hands, and she appeared to be smiling at someone who was standing above her. The painter — Nare, he assumed — had exquisitely captured the luminosity of Athera’s eyes and the open curiosity of her smile, and he stared gormlessly at the portrait until Athera spoke. 

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” she said brightly as she sat on the bed. “Nare painted it for my birthday a couple years ago. I always thought it would be weird to have a painting of myself in my own room, but it’s so pretty that it doesn’t even look like me.”

He tore his gaze away from the painting to frown at her. “It is gorgeous,” he said seriously. “And it captures you perfectly. A fitting depiction of your beauty.”

Her face softened with surprise, and her cheeks went red. She ducked her head and smiled shyly. “I, um. I’ll make sure I tell Nare that you like it!” She ran her fingers along her hairline, then clicked her tongue. “Shoot, I forgot to undo my hair.” She slid off of the bed and approached the vanity, then started undoing her bun, and Abelas studied the nape of her neck and the movements of her delicate fingers and as she untucked and unbraided her hair. 

She released her hair in sections from its tidy bun, finger-combing each shiny chestnut lock as it came loose from its restraining braids, and Abelas wistfully imagined what it would feel like to twine his fingers in her hair as he pulled her head back for a kiss. By the time her hair was cascading loosely down her back, his heart was pulsing in his ears and, to his mild shame, between his legs. 

She ruffled her hair and turned around to face him, and he quickly looked away from her in case his carnal feelings were showing in his face. His gaze landed on a tidy pile of books on her bedside table — a pile of familiar books.

He picked up _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ , and Athera smiled as she approached the bed. “Are you missing it? Your favourite book?” 

He shook his head. “I am glad it’s here. It is better for it to be enriching another mind than sitting on my shelf. Or my own bedside table.”

She chuckled and climbed into her bed. A warm floral fragrance met his nose, and his heart thumped; it was the fragrance of her hair and her bedsheets.

 _Fenedhis,_ the intimate scent of her body… He willed his own body to relax and prayed that Athera wouldn’t look at his overeager groin. Athera, meanwhile, was smiling broadly at him as she settled on her side.

He inhaled slowly through his lips. “Is something funny?” he asked. 

“You didn’t deny that it’s your favourite book,” she said.

He shot her a funny look. “Why would I deny that?”

“You said it was one of your favourites,” she said. “You never it was your actual favourite.”

He huffed and idly opened the book to the paperclip that was marking her spot. “Well, now you know.” Then, spurred by a boldness he _really_ shouldn’t feel, he quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps this is what Felassan would call a ‘dirty secret’.”

She giggled. “Well, your dirty secret is safe with me.”

He smiled faintly, but the thought of her knowing anything ‘dirty’ about him only heightened the heated feeling in his blood. He dropped his gaze to the open book in his lap and traced his thumb over the words, and Athera spoke again. “Are you going to read to me?”

He looked up and raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

She shrugged. Her smile was playful now. “I just thought you might, since you have the book open.”

He gave her a funny look. “Do you want me to read to you?” 

Her smile widened. “Would you read to me if I wanted you to?”

“I suppose,” he said. Nonplussed, he looked down at the book, then met her eye once more. “You wish for me to read to you in Elvhen, I assume?”

“What if I wanted you to read it in the common tongue?” she asked.

He curled his lip at the thought, and Athera burst out laughing. “Okay, I’m totally teasing you, I swear,” she said through her giggles. “I wouldn’t ask you to translate it on the fly.”

He huffed. “Good. Because I refuse to spoil this book by degrading it with the common tongue.” 

She laughed even harder. “Abelas! You are so rude about the common tongue!” 

He grunted. It wasn’t his fault that the common tongue was so crude-sounding. 

He gave her a frank look. “Am I doing this, then? I am reading to you from this book?”

She giggled and tucked her hands under her cheek. “Yes please. I’m all ready for my bedtime story, _hah’ren._ ”

 _Fenedhis,_ why was it arousing him to hear her call him _hah’ren_? Surely it was perverse for him to be aroused by Athera referring to him as a wise elder. 

He shifted subtly on the chair, thankful that the book was hiding his lap, then began to read out loud. “ _‘Upon my word,’ said Lady Ralaferin, ‘you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?’ ‘With three younger sisters grown up,’ replied Ellana, smiling, ‘your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it’._ ” He continued to read the passage out loud, and when he got to the end of the page, he paused and looked at Athera.

His lungs faltered. The playful laughter was gone from Athera’s face. Instead, her expression was… spirits, he couldn’t find the right word to express the intensity of her expression. Her pupils were large, making her eyes seem deeper and more luminous and more captivating than they already were. Her cheeks were flushed as they often were, but her lips were flushed and rosy as well, and…

 _Ardent_ , he thought suddenly. That was the word he was looking for. That was the word for this beautiful and passionate look on her face. He didn’t know why exactly her expression was lit with such ardency, but to have her looking this way — to see her looking at _him_ this way… 

His cock throbbed. _Be calm,_ he told himself sternly, and he drew a slow and calming breath. “Shall I… would you like for me to continue?” he said. 

She nodded, then cleared her throat. “Yes please,” she said.

Her voice was husky and low. In the dim coziness of her bedroom, it sounded undeniably intimate — intimate enough to feed the pulse between his legs. 

He licked his dry lips, then dropped his gaze back to the book and continued to read. “ _When Lady Ralaferin and her daughter had played as long as they chose, the tables were broken up, the carriage was offered to Mrs. Mahariel, gratefully accepted, and immediately ordered. The party then gathered round the fire to hear Lady Ralaferin determine what weather they were to have on the morrow—_ ” 

“Abelas?” she said suddenly.

He looked up. “Yes?”

“Can I hold your hand?” she asked.

His body thrilled at the request. Then he immediately scolded himself to be calm. Holding his hand was a perfectly innocent request for Athera to make. She had been holding his hand earlier this evening at Solas’s apartment, and in front of everyone. There was no reason for this request to excite him so. 

“Yes,” he said. He laid one arm on her bed, his palm face-up so she could hold his hand. 

Athera placed her palm in his, then slowly slid her fingers into the gaps between his own. Her fingers were so slender and delicate and her palm so warm, and Abelas stared at their clasped hands, feeling elated by the interlacing of Athera’s fingers with his own. He knew it was foolish to feel so thrilled by something so small; it was _just_ holding hands, after all — hardly the most intimate contact that two people could share. But for some reason that he couldn’t quite pin down, the feeling of Athera holding his hand was… it was making him feel as though there was a current of excitement pulsing beneath his skin. 

He dragged in a breath, then looked down at the book in his lap. “ _The party then gathered round the fire to hear Lady Ralaferin determine what weather they were to have on the morrow,_ ” he read. “ _From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of…_ ”

He trailed off, distracted by Athera — or rather, by her hand. She had released his hand, and her fingers were sliding down his palm toward his wrist. 

He swallowed hard. She was slowly pushing back the sleeve of his sweater, pushing it up to gather toward his elbow.

He lifted his arm slightly to help her efforts. Her eyes darted to his face and her fingers went still, and for a suspended, breathless moment, he just stared into her brilliant and luminous silvery eyes. 

Her gaze dropped to his bare forearm. Then, very slowly, she began to trail her fingers along the inside of his arm.

Abelas couldn’t breathe. He could barely think. His mind felt frozen, stunned, stupified by the feeling of her fingers brushing over his skin. The tips of her fingers made their way slowly up toward his wrist, skimming over the veins that lay just beneath his skin, and by the time her fingers were touching his palm once more, his heart was pounding so fiercely that he wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear it. 

“You have nice forearms,” she murmured.

“Nice forearms?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yeah,” she said softly. She brushed her thumb over the tendon inside his wrist, then trailed her knuckles along his arm back toward his elbow, and he held his breath as he watched her fingers tracing a slow and careful path along his skin. The way she was touching him, the delicacy of her touch, the deliberate way her fingertips were following the lines of his veins… He had never been touched this way. Never before had anyone taken the time to touch his forearm in this careful and attentive way. Other parts of his body, certainly; his ex-lovers had petted his chest and his abs and his thighs in the midst of sex, or grabbed his biceps or even his buttocks to pull him closer. But his forearms? Never. And certainly not in a manner that wasn’t overtly sexual. 

The way that Athera was touching him now, in contrast, was… it was breathtakingly intimate. More intimate and more sensual than anything he’d ever felt — more sensual even than sex. The way she touched him made him feel as though something intangible and nameless was swelling and aching inside his chest, something that had always been there but that had never truly been brought to life, and as Athera’s delicate fingertips played their way along the sensitive skin of his forearm, the warm and breathtaking sense of fullness in his body continued to bloom until it was almost unbearably pleasurable. 

When her fingers found his palm once more, he closed his fingers over hers to still them, and her eyes darted to his face. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

He breathed carefully to try and calm himself. He felt… he genuinely didn’t have the words to describe how he felt, neither in Elvhen nor the common tongue. ‘Raw’ wasn’t the right word, though it held a hint of the feeling, and ‘open’ was too simple to describe the depth of it. ‘Lust’ was too base and shallow, though desire was certainly a part of it — an uncomplicated and unequivocal desire the likes of which he’d never really felt with any other woman. But even desire alone was not enough to describe how he felt.

“Abelas?” she said softly. 

He met her eyes — clear and beautiful grey eyes that saw him in ways that nobody else did. Funny, cute, romantic… only Athera saw him in these ways. Or maybe he was only able to be these ways because of how open and kind and curious _she_ was. 

He gently squeezed her hand, then shifted forward on the chair. Then he carefully lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her hand in a kiss. 

For a leisurely second, he savoured the silken warmth of her skin against his lips. Then he lowered their hands back onto her bed and looked at her once more.

His heart squeezed. She was smiling at him, a broad and brilliant smile that showcased the dimple in her left cheek, and he could feel his own face curling into a smile in response to her obvious joy.

Her cheeks pinkened and she shyly dropped his gaze, but her smile remained broad and warm. “Are you finished reading?” she asked.

“That depends,” he said softly. “Would you like me to continue?”

She nodded and twined her fingers with his once more, and a giddy joy fluttered in his chest. He dropped his gaze back to the book in his lap and continued to read. “ _From these instructions they were summoned by the arrival of the coach; and with many speeches of thankfulness on Mr. Mahariel’s side, and many bows on Ser Sabrae’s, they departed._ ” He finished reading the chapter in a low and quiet voice, then looked up at Athera.

She was asleep. Her face was soft and her lips slightly parted in slumber, and for a long, leisurely moment, he simply enjoyed her fresh-faced beauty and the simple warmth of her fingers twined in his. 

_I ought to go,_ he thought. She was asleep now, and she had only invited him to stay for as long as it took for her to fall asleep. 

He gazed at her beautiful face for a moment longer. Then he looked down at _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ once more. _I will just finish this next chapter, and then I will go,_ he thought. 

And so Abelas sat in Athera’s cozily-lit bedroom holding her hand and reading his favourite romance novel, and he felt more content than he had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEXUAL TENSION FINALLY. 😂😂😂
> 
> I must confess: the parts of _Thenemathe_ that Abelas was reading are adapted from _Pride and Prejudice_. Which, um, I have not actually read. I liked the Kiera Knightley movie though! And I love the Bollywood-style adaptation with Aishwarya Rai! 😂😅😬
> 
> I am [Pika,](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and your artiste and creator of lovely Nare is [Elbenherz!](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/)


	42. Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this shorter update! I had plans for this to be some plot, but Solare smut happened instead. I DON’T MAKE THE RULES, I JUST FOLLOW THEIR LEAD.

###  NARE 

Solas flicked on his left-turn signal. “...fortunately, I managed to hide from the school security, and eventually they gave up trying to find me.” He smiled at Nare. “Unfortunately, they locked the door to the roof when they left.”

Nare stared at him. “You got locked on the roof of your high school?”

“I did, yes,” he said. “Remember too that this was a time before cell phones were ubiquitous, so I wasn’t able to call for help. I was forced to make other arrangements to get off of the roof.”

“What other arrangements?” she said avidly. “What did you do?”

His smile curled with mischief. “I climbed down.”

Her jaw dropped. “You climbed down off of the roof?”

He nodded. “I assure you that it is not as dramatic as it sounds. There was an overhang about two metres below the top of the roof, so I dropped down to that. From there I was able to find an open window to clamber through.”

“Still, a two-metre drop!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you did something so dangerous!”

“Neither can I, when I think back to it,” he said wryly. “But I was young, cocky, and ready to fight. I am considerably more even-tempered now.” He quirked an eyebrow at her. “And I assure you that I won’t be found climbing on the roofs of the university anytime soon.”

She giggled, then gave him a playful look. “You’re still young and cocky and ready to fight.”

He huffed and rubbed his chin. “I… am not sure that I entirely agree. Particularly with the ‘young’ part.”

She _tsk_ ed. “You’re still young. You have so much energy. More energy than me, even!”

“I would attribute that to my excellent sleeping habits,” he said.

“Your hibernation habits, you mean,” Nare teased.

He huffed. “Impertinent. And inaccurate,” he remarked. “Wolves do not hibernate.”

She grinned at him, then laughed out loud at his sly expression. Solas chuckled as well and made his left turn, and Nare openly admired the veins in his hands as they glided over the steering wheel. 

They’d spent the twenty-minute drive chatting in this comfortable way, talking about a wide range of different things: painting techniques and the most recent book Solas had lent her and a movie she wanted to watch with him, all sprinkled with their usual flirtation. Their conversation was so nice and comfortable that it almost made up for the sting of being forced to leave his company. 

Solas pulled into the small parking lot behind her building, and his eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah. That is Abelas’s car.” 

Nare followed his gaze. Sure enough, Abelas’s car was neatly parked in a visitor’s space. 

“He’s still here, then? That’s sweet,” she said with a smile. But in truth, a heavy feeling was twisting in her chest. It really was sweet that Abelas had gone inside to spend extra time with Athera, and Nare was happy for her — for both of them. She just… she wished that she could enjoy the same luxury with Solas. 

He stopped his car by the back door of her building, then shifted into ‘park’ and looked at her. “Well,” he said softly. “This is goodnight, then.”

She nodded silently. She wanted so badly to kiss him, but there was no question now of that, not with the possibility that Abelas could appear at any moment to witness them. 

For a tense, heavy moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes, and Nare watched painfully as Solas’s eyebrows tilted in that melancholy way that they did sometimes – that melancholy way that she wanted so desperately to wipe away and to ward off from ever sullying his handsome face. 

She took a deep breath and dropped her gaze to her lap. Then Solas spoke in a very soft voice. “I want you to imagine me kissing you goodnight.”

Her heart lifted. She and Solas really were on the same page, weren’t they? She gave him a tiny smile. “I’ll imagine you doing a lot more than that,” she said.

He exhaled and rubbed his chin. “Nare…”

She laughed. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m terrible.”

“You are not terrible,” he told her. “A vixen, certainly,” he added with a small smile, “but not terrible.”

She smiled helplessly at him, her heart aching with the sweet bitterness of their mutual longing. She finally took a deep breath and reached for the door handle. “Okay. Goodnight, Solas,” she said. “Thanks for the ride.” 

“Nare,” he said.

She looked around at him, and the ache in her chest swelled. His expression was so heavy with yearning that it was like seeing her own heart reflected in his face.

“I will text you when I get home,” he said.

“Okay,” she said softly. She mustered a cheeky smile for him. “Goodnight, professor.”

He huffed in amusement, and Nare enjoyed his smile for one last precious second before slipping out of his car. When she was just outside the door of her building, she glanced back at Solas. 

He raised a hand in farewell, then drove away, and Nare wistfully watched his taillights until they disappeared. Then, feeling both elated and melancholy, she went inside. 

She made her way up the stairs and opened the apartment door, half-expecting to find Athera and Abelas in the living room. Instead, the apartment was silent and dark except for a faint glow of light emanating from Athera’s open bedroom door. 

Nare raised her eyebrows. Were Athera and Abelas in her bedroom, then? But with the light on? 

“Athera?” she called softly. 

There was no reply. Curious and a little worried, Nare quickly took off her booties, then tiptoed down the hall toward Athera’s bedroom and peered inside.

Athera was tucked in her bed and fast asleep. And in the armchair beside her bed, also fast asleep, was Abelas. 

There was an open book on his lap, as though he’d fallen asleep while reading, and they were holding hands. Abelas’s arm was lying palm-up on the bed and his fingers were intertwined with Athera’s, and Nare smiled at how small Athera’s hand looked clasped in his. 

_Too cute,_ she thought. She studied them with a wistful sort of fondness for a second, then tiptoed down the opposite hall to her bedroom. 

She stripped and went to the bathroom for a shower, and she tried to ignore the faint ache in her chest as she unpinned her hair. To distract herself, she thought instead about the words she and Solas had exchanged at his apartment — their mutual admission that they loved each other. 

She smiled giddily as she stepped into the shower. _He loves me,_ she thought. She’d hoped and strongly suspected that he felt the same way she did, but for him to confirm it? For him to actually say it — not just say it, but to breathe the words in her ear while he was inside of her, filling her up so perfectly like no other man had ever been able to do?

A euphoric little buzz came to life in her chest, like a happy buzzing of bees just behind her sternum, and she grinned to herself as she washed her hair. She’d never thought much before about the phrase ‘making love’, dismissing it as a trite euphemism for an act that had always struck her as being much more raw and intense than the phrase implied. But now, as she remembered the tenderness of Solas’s lips on her thigh and the passion in his kiss as he drove himself into her depths, she understood. 

Now, Nare really understood what it was to make love with someone, and she couldn’t imagine ever sharing this kind of intimacy with anyone else. 

She only wished that she and Solas didn’t have to hide how important they were to each other.

A little wriggle of anxiety made its way through her happiness. She was thrilled that she and Solas had said ‘I love you’, but… in some ways, it just made things even more complicated. Before they’d admitted their feelings, they were able to maintain the pretense that their sex life and their professional life were separable entities. After tonight, though, Nare wasn’t sure how easily they’d be able to do that, even though she’d been the one to insist that they continue as they were.

She sighed as she stepped out of the shower. Why _had_ she been so insistent that they continue keeping their relationship a secret? It wasn’t like Solas had suggested that they… that they stop doing what they were doing. But the way he’d looked all sad, and the way he’d apologized to her… Nare hated that. She hated the idea of him being sorry for anything. She hated the idea of him feeling guilty, or feeling like he had to make it up to her. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so there was nothing to apologize for, and nothing for her to feel insecure about.

_He won’t hurt me,_ she thought. _He loves me, just like I love him._ She hung up her towel, then plugged in the blow-dryer and started drying her hair. 

When her hair was dry and she was dressed in her lounging clothes, she padded back down the hall to Athera’s bedroom to check in. Athera and Abelas were still asleep and still holding hands, but Abelas had shifted slightly on the chair. The open book had fallen from his lap onto the floor, and some of the pages were getting crushed.

Nare tiptoed into the room and knelt down to pick up the book, but as she rose to her feet, Abelas jolted awake. 

He sat up straight in the chair, and Nare hastily stepped back. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Sorry, Professor Abelas, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He looked at her almost accusingly, then blinked hard. “Nare. What—” 

Athera inhaled sharply, and Nare and Abelas both froze. Athera smacked her lips, and without waking up, she pulled Abelas’s hand a little closer to her chest. 

Abelas’s expression instantly softened, and Nare’s heart twisted. He looked so obviously smitten with Athera, and the two of them had fallen asleep holding hands…

Damn it, she envied them. It wasn’t nice or fair to feel this way, but Nare envied Abelas and Athera for being able to express their affection so openly. And Tamaris and Felassan too — the way Tamaris had stretched out and draped herself across Felassan’s lap while they were playing gwent at Solas’s apartment? Sure, Tamaris had been drunk, but Nare had never seen her acting so familiar with anyone before, drunk or not. It was so _nice_ to see her feeling so comfortable with Felassan, and Nare envied her — her and Athera _and_ Abelas and Felassan. 

She dropped her gaze to her feet. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered to Abelas. “I just — this fell on the floor…” She held out the book to him. 

“Ah. Thank you,” he said quietly. He took the book from her and looked at Athera once more, and Nare stood there for an awkward moment before backing toward the door. 

“Okay, goodnight,” she murmured.

“I should be going,” Abelas said. 

Nare raised her eyebrows. “Wha — are you sure? You can stay, we don’t mind.”

He shook his head. “Athera did not invite me to stay the night. I am loath to overstay my welcome.” He was gazing at Athera as he spoke, however, and it was so clear that he wanted to stay that it made Nare’s heart hurt.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. _I know how that feels,_ she thought. Then Abelas looked up at her. “May I trouble you for a piece of paper and a pen? I would like to leave her a note for when she wakes.”

“Sure,” Nare whispered, and she hurried back to her room. When she returned to Athera’s room a few seconds later, Abelas had disentangled his fingers from Athera’s, and now he was cradling her hand in both of his with the delicacy that someone might hold a baby bird.

Nare sidled up to him and held out the paper and pen. He looked up at her and nodded his thanks, then released Athera’s hand, and Nare quickly left the bedroom to give him some privacy.

She went to the kitchen and flicked on the kettle to make some herbal tea. A minute later, Abelas emerged from Athera’s bedroom with his usual stern expression in place. 

He padded over to the door. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said formally as he slipped on his shoes. “You have my thanks for the hospitality.”

She waved him off. “It’s — no problem, you’re welcome. Anytime.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, and Nare prepared her tea somewhat awkwardly as he and shuffled on his blazer and coat. He was so quiet and poker-faced that it was hard for her to know what to say to him. 

When he was fully dressed, he looked at her once more. “Thank you again, Nare. Goodnight.”

She smiled. “Goodnight, Professor Abelas.”

He nodded again, then opened the door and slipped out silently, and Nare locked the door behind him before going to peek into Athera’s room once more. The book Abelas had been reading was closed and replaced tidily on the bedside table, and Abelas had propped a folded note on top of the book. 

Nare tiptoed into the room and turned off Athera’s bedside lamp, then closed the door behind her and went to make her tea. A few minutes later, when she finally returned to her bedroom, it was to find two messages waiting on her phone.

_Solas Sun Oct 11 12:23 a.m.  
I am home. I will be going to sleep shortly, so if I should miss you before I do: I will be imagining that you are here with me. _

_Solas 12:23 a.m.  
Goodnight, Nare._

A pang of disappointment jolted in her gut. He’d sent those messages about ten minutes ago. Had she missed the chance to text with him a little bit? She quickly tapped out a reply in the hopes that he was still awake.

_Nare 12:34 a.m.  
Sorry for the delay, I was taking a shower and waking Abelas up!_

She gazed hopefully at her screen as she settled herself cross-legged on her bed. To her delight, the typing-ellipsis popped up at the bottom of her screen.

_Solas 12:34 a.m.  
Waking Abelas up? _

_Nare 12:34 a.m.  
He fell asleep in Athera’s bedroom_

_Solas 12:34 a.m.  
I beg your pardon? _

_Solas 12:34 a.m.  
I take that back. Perhaps do not tell me anything further._

Nare giggled, then typed out a reply.

_Nare 12:34 a.m.  
Naughty professor! It’s nothing like that 😂 He was sitting in the chair beside her bed and I think he just fell asleep while reading _

_Solas 12:34 a.m.  
That sounds both wholeheartedly like him and unlike him. _

_Nare 12:34 a.m.  
He seemed surprised to find himself there too! _

_Solas 12:34 a.m.  
I imagine he was._

Nare studied his words with a warm feeling in her chest. When no further messages arrived, she started to write him another text, but his typing-ellipsis appeared.

She stopped typing and waited, and his typing-ellipsis stopped as well. Nare smiled, then waited for him to write something first.

_Solas 12:35 a.m.  
I am imagining you here. My bed is not the same without you._

Her heart squeezed, and she took a deep breath to quell the ache in her chest.

_Nare 12:35 a.m.  
I wish I was there too. I’m jealous of Fenor getting to share your bed_

_Solas 12:35 a.m.  
She is not here. The living room couch struck her fancy tonight._

_Nare 12:35 a.m.  
Spoiled kitten! She doesn’t appreciate the privilege she has_

_Solas 12:35 a.m.  
I’ll scold her soundly in the morning, on your behalf._

Nare smiled, but she was starting to feel too mopey to laugh. She gazed at his messages, messages that she could hear so clearly in his smooth warm voice — that voice she loved so much, and that she wished so badly to have in her ear right now.

_Nare 12:35 a.m.  
I miss you_

_Nare 12:35 a.m.  
I know we just saw each other and I’ll see you on Tuesday but I miss you so much_

_Solas 12:35 a.m.  
You are not alone in this longing, Nare. Please know that._

Oh no, her eyes were burning. Was it stupid that she felt like she might cry? Was she being overdramatic? Maybe she was, but she couldn’t stop herself from typing out another message.

_Nare 12:35 a.m.  
Fenor isn’t the only one I’m jealous of_

_Solas 12:35 a.m.  
What do you mean?_

_Nare 12:35 a.m.  
I’m jealous of Tam and Athera. They get to be with Felassan and Abelas and nobody minds_

Solas’s reply was delayed — delayed enough to jangle Nare’s nerves.

_Solas 12:36 a.m.  
May I call you?_

Her heart twisted with anxiety. He wanted to call her? Usually she would jump at the chance to talk to him, but the request almost seemed ominous tonight.

 _Nare 12:36 a.m.  
It’s ok, you don’t have to, I’m just being dramatic_

 __

__

_Solas 12:36 a.m.  
I’m craving the sound of your voice._

Her heart quailed at this. How was she supposed to say no when he was such a sweet talker?

She typed out a quick ‘ok’ and sent it. A moment later, her phone buzzed.

She swiped to answer and lifted the phone to her ear. “Hi,” she murmured.

“Hello,” he said.

There was a brief but loaded silence — one that felt uncomfortably heavy. Unable to bear it, Nare spoke. “Solas?”

He exhaled softly. “I… admit that I’m not sure what to say.”

“It’s — you don’t have to say anything,” she said quickly. “I was just… honestly, Solas, it’s nothing.”

“If you felt strongly enough to say it, it was not nothing,” he said.

She nibbled the inside of her cheek, before replying. “I just wish we could be together like they are. I wish we didn’t have to hide it.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I feel as you do.”

She swallowed hard. She didn’t bother to ask if they could be together, because she already knew the answer: they couldn’t, not without risking everything. Admitting publicly that they wanted to be together would mean admitting that their entire professional relationship was tainted by impropriety, and Solas’s contract with University of Orlais would be in jeopardy. Not just his contract, she amended, but his tenure with the University of Arlathan. And that was just Solas. What about _her_ career? Her degree? What about her supervisory relationship with Solas? She had learned so much from him in just a mere six weeks of supervision. She shouldn’t be thinking about throwing that away, and neither should Solas. And yet…

_Stop,_ she told herself firmly. She didn’t want to give up her career, and neither did Solas. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t be together eventually, did it?

The loaded question hovered at the tip of her tongue, but she was too cowardly to ask it — too afraid that he might say ‘no’, and that they would lose what they had. Feeling more and more uncertain by the second, she nibbled the inside of her cheek and tried to find something to say.

“I love you, Nare,” he said softly.

Her heart fluttered, and she smiled helplessly as he went on. “I realize how paltry an offering these words must be. But for what it is worth—”

She interrupted him. “I love you too.”

There was a soft sigh, and Nare could so easily imagine his smile. When he spoke again, his voice was even gentler than before. “We will speak of this again, I promise. But for now…”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “Really, it’s okay. I… it’s hard, but it would be worse if…” She trailed off, unable to voice the terrible alternative.

“Are you certain you wish to continue as we have done?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely yes.”

“You should know you are free to walk away at any time,” he said. “I would never want you to feel beholden to me.”

“I’m not walking away,” she said firmly. “I’m yours.”

He let out another soft exhale that made her skin tingle. Feeling bold now, she sat up straighter on her bed. “I’m yours, professor,” she said.

A few seconds of silence followed — silence in which Nare could feel her pulse rising. 

“Are you my good girl?” he said quietly.

Instantly, like the flipping of a switch, she felt a flush of heat between her legs. “Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I’m your good girl.”

There was another brief pause, but this time it was loaded with anticipation. “Where are you?” he asked.

“In my room,” she said.

“Are you in bed?”

“No.”

“Get into bed, Nare.”

Gods, his quiet but commanding tone… “Okay,” she said eagerly. “Just a second.” She quickly pulled her earphones out of her bedside drawer and plugged them into her phone. Buzzing with excitement now, she slid under the covers and popped in her earphones.

“Okay, I’m in bed,” she said, and she pulled up the hem of her shirt in anticipation.

“Very good,” Solas said. “Now don’t touch yourself.”

She paused with her hand halfway down her belly. “ _Don’t?_ ”

“Don’t touch yourself,” he repeated. “Not until I tell you to.” Then she heard a rustling of fabric through the phone.

Her belly flipped with excitement. “What are you doing, professor?” she asked.

He didn’t reply. Then, through the phone, she heard a long and slightly shaky exhale.

She forced herself to breathe. “Solas, what are you—”

“I am imagining you on top of me,” he said.

Her pulse pounded between her legs, and Solas continued to talk in a low smooth voice. “I’m stroking myself and I am imagining, with the fondest details that my memory can conjure, that I’m inside of you.”

She shifted her hips restlessly. “Please,” she breathed.

“Do you want this, Nare?” he asked. “Do you want to be on top of me?”

“Y-yes,” she said. “Yes, I — I want that.”

There was a brief pause. Then Solas spoke in a more serious tone. “Was that a bit of hesitation?”

She swallowed. How did he know when she was hesitant, even through the phone?

She nervously licked her lips. She didn’t want to admit this — had never admitted it to anyone before, in fact. But if there was anyone who would accept this, it was Solas. “It always… it almost always hurts when I’m on top.”

There was another pause, and Nare nibbled her lip, regretting having ruined his dirty talk. When he replied, however, his tone was brisk and confident. “We will have to rectify that.”

She relaxed slightly. Of course he wasn’t bothered by what she’d told him. He had always taken every aspect of her experience in stride. 

“How?” she asked.

“I’m your professor,” he said. “I will teach you.”

Her excitement ratcheted higher. Without thinking, she slipped her hand halfway into her underwear, then remembered that she wasn’t allowed to touch herself yet.

She exhaled shakily. “How will you teach me?” she whispered.

“First, I will prepare you for the lesson,” he said. “Do you know what that means, Nare?”

“No, professor,” she breathed.

“It means,” he said, “that I will make you very wet.”

She inhaled sharply and dug her nails into her skin. Her pussy was throbbing to be touched, but he hadn’t given her permission.

Meanwhile, he was still talking. “Do you wish to know how I will do that?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“Yes, what?” he said. His tone was harder now, and her spine arched instinctively in response. 

“Yes, professor, please,” she begged.

He hummed in acknowledgement — a smug little hum that she felt as a thrill in her throat and chest and the palms of her hands. “I will bend you over my knee, and I will pull up your skirt and look at you,” he murmured. “And if you are not wet enough for my liking, I will discipline you.”

Her breath hitched at the thought of being bent over his knee. This was going to be torture if she had to hold off for much longer. “Please…”

He went on as though she hadn't spoken. “I will spank you, Nare,” he said. “Then I will feel you with my fingers until I’m certain that you are wet enough for me.” He lowered his voice to an even more intimate pitch. “And you will need to be very wet to take me.”

She gasped and lifted her hips, almost overcome with longing, but Solas wasn’t finished yet. “Your lovely pussy will need to be dripping before I can teach you how to ride me properly.”

A sob escaped her lips. “Solas, please…”

“What is it, Nare?” he said gently.

“Let me touch myself!” she whined.

He paused — a heavy pause. “Is that how you ask your professor?”

She whimpered and twisted her hips. His voice was so low and rough and perfect. “N-no,” she said shakily.

“Then how do you ask?”

She sobbed again. “Please, professor, may I touch myself?”

“That’s better,” he said. “But my answer is no.”

She dug her nails into her belly in frustration. “Why?” she said plaintively.

“Because I am going to come first,” he said.

Her lips dropped open with longing. Gods, the thought of his hand wrapped around his cock… “Yes,” she whimpered.

He breathed erratically for a moment before speaking again. “I am going to come while imagining the hot bliss of your pussy embracing me.”

“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Please think about me. Think about me fucking you.”

He inhaled sharply. “Ah…”

Riled by his reaction, she eagerly went on. “Think about me licking and sucking your cock before I rub myself on you.”

He gasped, and Nare twisted restlessly in her sheets. “Please, Solas, I want you to come,” she begged. “I want you to come on me like you did tonight. I want your come all over my body and on my lips.”

He gasped again, another desperate little gasp, and then — _oh_ , that sound he made, that perfect groan-gasp that she loved so much… 

She whimpered and tilted her hips. “I want to suck you, Solas,” she begged.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

A bolt of desire shot straight through her gut. His voice was a guttural and breathless growl, and Nare eagerly obeyed him and slid her fingers into her panties. 

They were soaked, of course, and her clit was like a tiny swollen berry. The second she started caressing herself, her orgasm began to build.

“Are you touching yourself, Nare?” he said.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Are you going to come for me?”

“Y-yes!” she gasped, and she rocked her hips against her fingers.

He went on in a low and persuasive tone. “Are you thinking about my cock in your throat? My cock moving deeply inside of you, making you thrash and flex so beautifully in my hands?”

“Yes, yes!” she whined.

“Yes, what?” he snapped.

“Yes, professor!”

He chuckled softly. “Good girl.”

That was it. That was the final thing she needed to hear. Her orgasm burst, pulsing through her body in waves of pleasure that she muffled against the back of her hand, but it wasn’t enough.

Her own fingers weren’t enough, not now that she’d suffered the exquisite torturous pleasure of Solas’s fingers and tongue and cock. And it didn’t matter that she’d had him twice already tonight and that both of those times had been completely satisfying; in this moment now, in the throes of her own self-induced climax, Nare was so desperate for him that she might as well have never had him at all. 

A wave of distress rose in her throat, and a tear ran down the side of her face. “I need you,” she mewled.

“I need you too,” he murmured.

She shook her head. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand what this felt like: to feel so fucking empty after a climax, especially knowing that he could fill her up and make her so complete if only he was here with her. “No,” she said shakily. “I really — I _need_ you, Solas. I can’t… I need you.”

“I know, Nare,” he said softly. “I… please believe me, I know.” 

She swallowed hard. There was a broken note to his voice that convinced her, but which also made her yearn for him even more. 

“When can we be together again?” she asked. She knew she sounded desperate, but her body was just so empty without him that she didn’t care. 

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I… I fear that we are playing too incautiously with this fire. Let us talk more on Tuesday?” 

_Tuesday?_ she thought in dismay. That was two whole days away. “Can’t it be sooner?” she asked.

“I worry that that would be unwise,” he said gently. “I am sorry, Nare. I…” He sighed. “ _Ma’avin, ma vhenan._ I feel as you do, truly.”

“I know,” she said. “I just… I’ll be wanting your cock until then.”

He sighed again, more heavily this time. “ _Veraisa._ ”

She smiled at the wry twist in his voice. Then he spoke again. “Will you be able to sleep?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” she said. “But I’ll try.”

“Please do,” he said. “I will try as well.”

She checked her phone, and her eyes widened. “It’s so late,” she said. Then she smiled. “Will you be able to get your nine hours of hibernation?”

He huffed in amusement. “You’re being impertinent.”

She giggled. “I know.”

“Inviting punishment again, are you?” 

“Always, professor,” she said cheekily.

He chuckled softly — a sound that always cheered her up — but his words cheered her up even more. “ _Ar lath ma._ Even when you are impertinent.”

She grinned. Would she ever get tired of hearing him say this? “I love you too,” she whispered. “Goodnight, Solas.”

“Goodnight, Nare,” he said softly. 

She waited for him to end the call. A few seconds ticked by, and he stayed on the line. 

She smiled bashfully. “Goodnight,” she whispered.

He huffed in amusement. Then his voice entered her ears once more, soft and delicate as velvet. “Goodnight,” he murmured.

She held her breath and waited for a few more seconds, but Solas still didn’t hang up. 

Her heart swelled with affection. With a feeling like she was cutting something precious, she reluctantly ended their call. 

She removed her earphones and set her phone on the bedside table, then settled cozily in her bed. Tired though she was from the emotional ups and downs of the night as well as from the amazing sex, her mind was humming with thoughts, and she wasn’t sure how easily she would fall asleep. Wanting to be with Solas, wanting to be supervised by Solas, wanting Solas to keep his career but wanting him to sleep with her at night – wanting to learn everything he had to teach, but wanting to be allowed to hold his hand in public… 

She sighed. It was a mess. A whole mess of trouble, exactly as she’d known it would be from the second she’d laid eyes on him. 

And yet… if she could go back and undo that first flirty conversation with him at the bar, or even undo that heart-pounding chance encounter in front of the café all those weeks ago, she wouldn’t. She loved Solas more than could ever have imagined loving anyone, and he loved her too. And to Nare, that love was worth the trouble. 

Comforted by her thoughts of Solas’s love, Nare finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Athera and Abelas! And... ART!!! 👀 😍
> 
> Also HAPPY NEWS: I have a little stretch of days off coming up, and GUESS WHO IS GOING TO BE WRITING UP A STORM ~~when she's not busy sailing Geralt's fine ass all over the Skelligan sea~~ ? THIS GIRL. 🙌


	43. Waiting to Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail Elbenherz for the BEAUTIFUL SWEET ART that I have been staring at for weeeeeks!! 😭❤❤🙏🙏

###  ATHERA 

When Athera woke up the next morning, the first thing she saw was the empty armchair beside her bed.

 _He left?_ she thought. She sat up on one elbow, but before she could start getting anxious about the fact that Abelas was gone and whether he’d left because she’d done or said something stupid in her sleep, her gaze fell on the bedside table. 

Her heart flipped. There was a note propped on the table, with her name written in his tidy hand. 

She grabbed the note and sat up in bed to read it. By the time she finished reading the note, she was grinning.

> Athera,
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed a restorative sleep. 
> 
> We had agreed to meet at 11:00, but I understand that you may wish to change that time depending on when you wake. I would ask that you ~~call me~~ text me when you wake to advise of your preferred time to meet.
> 
> I look forward to seeing you. 
> 
> \- Abelas

Athera beamed at the paper, her heart fluttering with fondness and excitement. By any objective measure, his letter sounded so formal. But Athera was accustomed to his formality now, and for her, his letter was layered with an undercurrent of emotion – his sweet wish for a restorative sleep, how he said he was looking forward to seeing her, the fact that he’d crossed out his request for her to call and replaced it with ‘text’ instead…

She sighed happily, then gently replaced the letter on top of _Thenemathe de Asa’lathin_ and picked up her phone to text him–

Her heart banged with shock. It was already 10:37! Shoot, damn, she must have forgotten to set an alarm. Could she get ready to meet him in less than twenty-five minutes? No, it took twenty minutes alone to curl her hair. She could just put her hair up… argh, but then she would look so sloppy. And if there was one thing Athera was sure of, it was that she’d had enough of being a sloppy mess in front of Abelas.

She dithered for a minute more, then finally slumped and flicked through to her messages.

_Athera Sun Oct 11 10:39 a.m.  
On dhea! I found your note! ❤ I’m so so sorry but I just woke up, I won’t be ready for 11 😭 Is 11:30 okay?_

She hopped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to pee. Before she could even finish washing her hands, her phone _ding_ ed with a text.

She hastily dried her hands and scooped up her phone.

_Abelas 10:41 a.m.  
On dhea, Athera. There is no need to apologize; 11:30 is fine. If it suits you, I will park behind your building and we can walk to the restaurant you had mentioned._

_Athera 10:41 a.m.  
Sounds perfect! Can’t wait! 🥰_

She set her phone down on the counter and brushed her teeth, then started doing her usual morning skincare and makeup routine. Ten minutes later, as she was making herself a cup of coffee, her phone _ding_ ed again.

_Abelas 10:52 a.m.  
I attempted to find a way to properly express my anticipation for this date, but I regret that the optimal words have escaped me._

She smiled goofily at her phone, then leaned against the counter and tapped out a reply.

_Athera 10: 52 a.m.  
Is that another poorly-hidden insult about the common tongue? 😂_

_Abelas 10:52 a.m.  
I did not intend it as such. Although I would, in fact, blame my lack of satisfactory vocabulary on the common tongue._

She giggled. She could practically see the disapproval in his face as he messaged her.

_Athera 10:52 a.m.  
What if you were trying to find a way to describe your anticipation in Elvhen?_

_Abelas 10:52 a.m.  
It is simple in Elvhen. We have a word for this feeling: iselen’odheasha._

Athera frowned pensively, then sipped her coffee as she pondered the unfamiliar phrase. When her coffee was half-gone, she typed out her attempted translation.

_Athera 10:54 a.m.  
Waiting to breathe?_

His reply took some time, like he was struggling to find the right words. By the time her phone _ding_ ed with his response, Athera had finished her coffee.

_Abelas 10:57 a.m.  
That is a gross translation of the word, but yes. It refers to that feeling of being at the cusp of something that one has been greatly anticipating. Like the way children feel while awaiting the permission to unwrap a gift. Or the feeling of holding a new novel by a favoured author before opening it to read the first page._

She read his answer three times. By the time she’d finished reading it, her whole chest felt like it was swelling with warmth.

 _This is what he means,_ she thought breathlessly. The way she felt right now while reading his carefully chosen words, like she was lightheaded and floating with a surreal kind of joy: this feeling was exactly what he meant.

_Athera 10:57 a.m.  
That’s how you feel about our date? That kind of anticipation?_

_Abelas 10:58 a.m.  
Yes. I regret that this language is inadequate for describing it._

_Athera 10:58 a.m.  
It’s not inadequate! Your words are not at all inadequate, are you kidding??_

_Athera 10:58 a.m.  
They’re so beautiful and romantic! 🥰❤❤❤ _

_Abelas 10:58 a.m.  
I am grateful as always that you feel that way. _

She smiled helplessly at his texts. Then, conscious of the time, she regretfully typed a last message.

_Athera 10:59 a.m.  
So sorry to cut this short but I have to go get ready! See you soon! ❤_

“Good morning!”

Athera looked up. Nare was wandering down the hall with a smile and a mug in her hands. 

“Good morning,” Athera chirped. “Tea or coffee?”

“Tea please,” Nare said. She set her mug on the counter and peered carefully at Athera. “How are you feeling?”

Athera waved dismissively as she flicked on the kettle. “I’m fine, I’m fine! Let’s pretend I didn’t make a total ass of myself last night.” 

Nare chuckled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You weren’t that bad.”

Athera grimaced, then abruptly changed the subject. “How was the rest of the party? What did I miss? Did anything fun happen without me?” She gazed pleadingly at Nare. “Please tell me I didn’t miss anything fun.”

Nare smiled and leaned back against the counter. “You missed a really cutthroat gwent tournament.”

“Wait, actually?” Athera said. She narrowed her eyes. “So hang on, is gwent actually fun then?”

Nare laughed. “I know, I was expecting it to be overhyped too, but it actually is fun. It was even more fun to watch Tamaris and Felassan competing, though.”

“Tamaris played against Felassan?” Athera said in surprise. “I thought he said he was going to help her!”

Nare started to reply, but Athera waved her hands. “Actually, can you come talk to me while I curl my hair? I’m going to be late.”

Nare nodded and followed her down the hall to the bathroom. “If you’re running late, why don’t you just put your hair up?”

Athera scoffed. “Come on, you know me, I only wear it up if I’m running late or feeling lazy. Or if I’m trying to be fancy like last night. Not that that worked out,” she added sadly. She plugged in her curling wand gave Nare an earnest look. “I don’t want to look lazy for Abelas.”

Nare smiled as she seated herself on the toilet lid. “I guarantee that Abelas won’t think you look lazy. And you totally looked fancy last night.”

“Yeah,” Athera drawled, “really fancy with my head hanging in Solas’s toilet.” She turned to Nare again in horror. “Oh gods, I’m sorry again for barging in on you in the bathroom. I still can’t believe I even did that.”

Nare blinked. “Oh, it’s — don’t even worry about it, it’s totally fine.”

Athera smiled at her, then released her hair from its messy bun and started brushing it out. “So you were saying that Felassan challenged Tam at gwent? What happened to helping her?”

“He did at first,” she said. “He helped her to play against me.”

“Ooh, so you did play too then!” Athera said.

“Yeah,” Nare said. “Solas helped me while Felassan helped Tamaris. Then he made her play against him.” She smirked. “Honestly, I think he just wanted to provoke her.”

Athera grinned as she wound a lock of hair around the wand. “Provoke her to what? Bite his head off?”

“Yeah, actually,” Nare said.

They both laughed, and Nare sighed happily and crossed her legs. “They’re so funny.”

“They’re so cute,” Athera agreed. 

“Almost as cute as you and Abelas,” Nare said slyly.

Athera released the curl of hair and looked at her with wide eyes. “What do you mean?”

Nare shot her a secretive little smile. “You and Abelas are super cute.”

Athera scoffed and turned back to the mirror to keep curling her hair. “Yeah, I bet my drunk shenanigans were super cute.”

Nare _tsk_ ed, then shifted forward and gave Athera a coy look. “He fell asleep holding your hand last night.”

Athera’s heart flipped. “He did?”

Nare nodded, then smirked. “I would have taken a photo but I figured that would be creepy.”

Athera snorted a laugh, then turned back to the mirror and pretended not to notice her own pinkening cheeks. “I didn’t know he fell asleep. The last thing I remember was that he was reading to me.”

Nare’s eyes went wide. “He was reading to you?”

“Yeah,” Athera said, and she let out a little laugh as she curled the next lock of hair. “I can’t believe he read to me, actually. I was half-expecting him to say ‘no’ when I…” She trailed off. Oh gods. She’d just remembered something else — something really embarrassing. 

“Oh shit,” she said faintly.

Nare straightened up. “What? What?”

“Oh shit.” She gazed at Nare with growing horror. “I called him _hah’ren_ and asked him to read me a bedtime story.”

Nare’s jaw dropped. Then she burst into laughter. 

“Don’t laugh!” Athera wailed. “This is so embarrassing! Oh gods, I hope he just chalks it up to me being drunk.”

“I hope he doesn’t,” Nare giggled. “That would make it even more interesting.”

Athera tutted and went back to curling her hair. “I’m glad my stupid behaviour is so entertaining.”

“You know I’m laughing with you, not at you,” Nare said warmly.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?” Athera complained.

Nare grinned, and the mischief in her face was too much for Athera to resist; before she knew it, she was smiling, and then both she and Nare were laughing again.

“Okay, okay, I have to focus here,” Athera giggled. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay, I’ll go make my tea and come back,” Nare said. She unfolded her legs and padded out of the bathroom, and Athera grinned to herself as she continued curling her hair. Had Abelas really fallen asleep while holding her hand? That was… argh, she was going to start sounding like a broken record saying it over and over, but he was just so _romantic_.

Her belly fluttered with excitement, and she hummed along to the music playing from the bathroom speaker as she curled her hair. A minute later, Nare returned with a steaming mug of tea in her hands.

She sat on the toilet lid once more and sipped her tea, and Athera gave her an expectant look. “So what else happened at the party? Anything interesting I should know about? Any hot lab gossip?”

Nare smiled faintly. “Not really. It was basically a lot of drinking and gwent.”

“And is Solas as good at gwent as Abelas said he was?” Athera asked.

“Yeah,” Nare said. “He beat Felassan every time, just like Abelas said.”

“Hah!” Athera said. “Serves Felassan right.”

Nare snickered. “You really have it out for him, don’t you?”

Athera giggled. “Only in fun. But he started it. Besides, it’s probably good for him to lose at something for once.”

“What do you mean?” Nare asked.

“He’s just right all the time about everything,” Athera said. “It would be annoying if he wasn’t so nice about it.”

Nare hummed an acknowledgement and sipped her tea, and Athera continued to curl her hair and hum along to her music. When Nare didn’t say anything for a while, Athera glanced at her.

She was gazing absently at her mug, and she looked a little sad. Athera lowered her curling wand. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Nare looked up. “Hm? Yeah. Why?”

“Just checking,” Athera said. “You seemed a little bummy.”

“Oh,” Nare said. “No, I’m okay. Maybe a little hungover.” 

Athera nodded understandingly and continued curling her hair. “Did you end up drinking last night then?” she asked.

“Not a lot,” Nare said. “Just a glass of wine or two.”

“Smart. And responsible,” Athera said wryly. “Unlike some.”

Nare scoffed. “Honestly, don’t even worry about it. Nobody thinks badly of you, I promise. Especially not Abelas.”

Athera pulled a little face. “Okay, I’ll try and take your word for it.”

Nare smiled and sipped her tea before speaking again. “What are you doing for your date?”

“We’re going to L’Avenue for brunch,” Athera said brightly.

“Ooh, good choice,” Nare said. “I hope there won’t be a crazy lineup.”

Athera paused. “Oh, shoot. I forgot about that.” She frowned for a second, then waved her hand dismissively. “Oh well, it’s nice and sunny, so we’ll just take a number and go for a walk if we have to wait.”

“That sounds really nice,” Nare said softly.

Athera nodded happily. “Yeah! I’m really excited about it.”

Nare smiled, but she still looked sad somehow. Athera lowered her curling wand and tilted her head. “Seriously, are you sure you’re okay?”

Nare straightened and smiled. “Yeah, I’m… honestly, I’m fine.”

Athera frowned, unconvinced by Nare’s words. “Are you sure it’s just post-party blues?”

Nare eyed her for a second, then sighed. “Okay, to be honest, I’m just… a little envious of you and Tam, that’s all.”

Athera raised her eyebrows. “Envious? Why?”

Nare shrugged and tapped her nails on her mug. “It’s going to sound so petty.”

Athera put down her curling wand. “Don’t say that! Tell me what’s wrong.” She knelt at Nare’s feet and squeezed her knee encouragingly. “Seriously, you can tell me. Don’t be sad by yourself.”

“I’m not sad, I promise,” Nare said quickly. “I’m just…” She trailed off, then shrugged and gave Athera a crooked little smile. “You guys are so happy with Felassan and Abelas. I just hope I’ll be happy like that someday, that’s all.”

Athera’s heart twisted, and she patted Nare’s knee again. “You will!” she said firmly. “You totally will. I know you will. You’re _so_ great. There’s definitely a guy out there who will see how great you are.” Desperate to cheer Nare up, she cast around for an idea, then perked up. “What about speed dating? Or online dating? I know you didn’t have much luck the last time you tried a dating app, but maybe now that we’re in Orlais and it’s a new pool of guys…?”

Nare huffed a laugh and shook her head. “Seriously, don’t worry. It’s not a problem, really. I’m just a little mopey right now, but I’ll be fine in like an hour. It’s mostly post-party mope, I promise.”

“Okay,” Athera said worriedly. She tilted her head. “Do you want me to stop talking about Abelas? If it feels like rubbing it in—”

“No!” Nare exclaimed. “Are you kidding? Don’t — I want to hear everything. And I mean everything.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

Athera scoffed and stood up. “Oh please, there’s — this is our first date! There’s nothing to tell.”

“Yet,” Nare said. She shot Athera a mischievous smile and lifted her mug to her lips once more. 

Athera’s tummy flipped with excitement at the thought of having _something_ to tell to Nare. Oh spirits, now her stupid cheeks were going warm again. 

Nare giggled, and Athera rolled her eyes and picked up her curling wand. “Okay, you, get out of here before you make me melt my makeup off.”

Nare laughed and stood up. “All right, I’ll leave you in peace. If I don’t catch you again before you go, have a great time.”

“I will!” Athera chirped. Nare left the bathroom, and Athera checked her phone for the time. Damn, it was already 11:10. If she didn’t hurry, Abelas was going to get here before she was ready. 

Unfortunately, she was exactly right: ten minutes later, just as she was setting her hair with hairspray, her phone _ding_ ed with a text.

_Abelas 11:21 a.m.  
I have arrived. I apologize for being early. I will wait downstairs until you’re ready._

Oh gods, oh gods, he was here already? He was going to wait downstairs? No no, he couldn’t wait outside, it wouldn’t be nice to make him wait in the car.

Feeling slightly panicked, she tapped out a reply.

_Athera 11:21 a.m.  
Ok I’m still getting ready! But you don’t have to wait downstairs, you can come up for some coffee while you wait!_

She sent the text, then froze with horror. Wait, what was she doing? Why had she invited him upstairs? She wasn’t even dressed yet! Shit, what was she going to wear? Why hadn’t she thought about this yesterday? Oh right, it was because she’d been _drunk._

Her phone dinged again.

_Abelas 11:21 a.m.  
All right. Thank you. I will see you shortly._

_Fuck,_ she thought. In full panic mode now, she darted out of the bathroom. “Nare!”

Nare poked her head out of the living room. “Yeah?”

“He’s here!” she hissed. “He’s coming up!”

Nare’s eyebrows shot up. “He — but it’s so early.”

“I know!” Athera squeaked. “He’s here early and I invited him up for coffee because I’m an idiot but I’m not even wearing clothes—”

Nare stood up from the couch and held up a hand. “Okay, hey, it’s — listen, you get dressed, I’ll entertain him.”

A mental image of Nare juggling and telling jokes for Abelas entered her mind. She snorted a laugh, and Nare’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Athera said. Gods, her brain was all over the place today. “Um, yeah, if you — thank you so _so_ much, that would be great!” She darted into her bedroom and threw open the closet. A second later, Nare appeared at the door. 

“No problem,” she said. “But, um, any idea what I could talk about with him?”

“Anything,” Athera said distractedly as she flicked through her clothes. “He can talk about anything, he’s really smart.”

“All right,” Nare said slowly. “Um, anything specific though…?” 

Athera glanced at Nare’s uncertain expression, then took a breath and thought for a second. “The photos in the living room,” she said finally. “He was admiring them yesterday. You could tell him about the photos.”

Nare relaxed. “Great. Okay, I—”

A knock at the front door interrupted them, and Athera’s nerves ratcheted up. “Shit,” she squeaked.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” Nare said soothingly, and she quickly left Athera’s bedroom and closed the door. A second later, Athera heard the muffled sound of Nare and Abelas greeting each other.

She took a deep breath and patted her chest for a moment. _Calm down,_ she scolded herself. _It’s just a date. And it’s not even like it’s with a stranger. You know Abelas, you work with him every day._

But this was different. Working with Abelas was easy. She knew her role in the lab and her value there, and she knew how to handle Abelas’s moods when he was being stubborn or cranky. Dating Abelas, on the other hand, was something else completely. His stoic manner only served to remind her how much emotion was flowing beneath his calm facade, and the formality of his speech just made it all the more breathtaking when said something romantic. He was so tall and big and imposing but he made her feel so safe, and on the rare occasions when he touched her — carrying her up the stairs or brushing her hair away from her forehead or — or kissing her, that one singular shining kiss they’d shared on the couch in his office… 

Oh gods, her heart was pounding. Worse yet, it wasn’t just pounding in her chest, but between her legs. How was it possible that someone she’d known for so little time could make her _feel_ so much?

She drew a long, slow breath and willed her cheeks to return to a normal temperature, then turned her attention back to her closet and forced herself to focus on her clothes, and finally she picked her outfit: skinny jeans and a flowy cream-coloured sweater with a wide boat neck that showed off her collarbones. Casual but not too casual, cute but not _too_ sexy for a first date—

 _Stop overthinking,_ she told herself, and she quickly got dressed. She checked her makeup and her hair one last time, then took a last deep breath and stepped out of her bedroom. 

She padded down the hall to the living room, where Nare and Abelas were standing in front of the photo wall and talking quietly. When Athera entered the room, Abelas turned to face her. 

Her heart thumped. He was dressed in a tailored wool coat and pressed slacks as usual. But instead of his usual mock-neck sweater, he was wearing a black button-up shirt, and the top button was undone. 

She stared stupidly at the dip at the base of his throat for a second. Had she ever seen this much of his neck before? She didn’t think she had. No, that wasn’t true, she’d seen more of his neck and arms when he’d taken off his sweater that one time at Bonny Sims— 

Fuck, _shit_ , her cheeks were turning warm yet again. She swallowed hard and smiled at him. “Hi,” she said lamely.

“Athera,” he said softly. 

Nare stepped back. “Okay, have a great time!” she said. “I’ll see you later.” She shot Athera an excited little smile and hurried away to her bedroom, and Athera made a mental note to bake Nare a cake to thank her for not sticking around to witness her idiocy. 

She took a deep breath and jerked her thumb at the door. “Okay, ready to go?”

He nodded and approached her, and she tried to ignore the thrum of excitement in her belly as he drew closer. She pointed at the mug in his hand. “Here, I’ll take that,” she said. “I hope our coffee was okay! I mean, I assume it would be, I buy the same kind as we get at the office— “

He reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. “You look beautiful,” he said. 

She froze. Her whole body and mind felt frozen, paralyzed with giddiness and anticipation and — yes, okay, with desire too. But seriously, how was it even _fair_ that such a simple touch and such simple words could make her feel this exhilarated?

She forced herself to inhale. “Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “So do you. I mean, I — your shirt is — you look really handsome,” she babbled, then closed her mouth to stop herself from talking.

He smiled faintly — ugh, gods, his _smile_ — then tilted his head at the sink. “May I place this in the sink? Or do you have a dishwasher?”

“Nope, no dishwasher,” she said. “Unless you mean me and the girls, ha ha.” Oh spirits, they needed to get out of this apartment. Having his big muscular body in this space was making her crazy. 

A few minutes later, in which she managed to get on her coat and her flats without making an ass of herself, they stepped outside into the near-noontime sunshine, and Athera took a grateful gulp of autumn air before smiling up at Abelas. “I hope you’re hungry. This restaurant gives really big portions.”

“Nare mentioned that,” he said as they made their way to L’Avenue. “She said that their vegan menu is excellent.”

“Yeah, it is!” Athera said brightly. “I’ve actually had a couple of their vegan dishes. They do vegan versions of food that’s usually super heavy on the meat.”

He nodded slowly. “That sounds promising.”

“You’re going to eat from the vegan menu?” she said in surprise.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Particularly if the options are less heavy.”

She winced. Of course he’d want lighter options; he didn’t like big lunches. She gave him an apologetic look. “Oh Abelas, I’m sorry. I keep making you come out for these big huge lunches…” 

He shook his head. “Do not apologize. At least not now.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Save your apology for if I start falling asleep at the table.”

She relaxed at his wry expression and smiled. “Are you saying you’re going to get so bored of me that you’ll fall asleep?”

She expected one of his rare snarky remarks in response, but instead, he gave her a thoughtful look. “I have difficulty imagining that I could become bored of you,” he said.

Her belly swooped with pleasure. How had it taken her this long to realize how smooth he was? But not even sleazy-smooth, just… a sweet, genuine kind of smooth, like fresh-churned ice cream. 

She beamed at him. “I can’t imagine getting bored of you either.”

His lips twisted slightly. “Hm. In any case, I am glad that you find my lecturing to be interesting.”

She frowned. That was an odd reaction to her words. She tapped his elbow. “Hey, what was that face?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Pardon?”

“You made a little face,” she said. “When I said I wouldn’t get bored of you. Do you think I’m going to get bored of you?”

His expression became a little closed. “Not necessarily.”

She gazed sympathetically at his handsome frown. He was doing that thing he did where he didn’t say the majority of what he was thinking. 

“Why do you think you’re boring?” she asked gently.

His eyebrows rose, then dropped into a scowl, and Athera pulled a little face. “Oops, that sounded harsh. I didn’t mean…” She paused, then cocked her head to the side. “Actually, you know what, I did mean it. Why do you think you’re boring?”

He pursed his lips before replying. “When one is collecting data for a qualitative study and multiple participants state the same opinions, the simplest conclusion is that their shared opinion must be correct.”

Athera frowned at this, then pulled him to a stop. “Hang on. What ‘participants’ do you mean? Who are these people who have this dumb opinion that you’re boring?”

His jaw tensed, and he looked away from her for a moment. Athera waited patiently until he looked her in the eye once more. “I have dated a number of women,” he said slowly. “In every case, the relationship was terminated by my partner on the grounds that I was more interested in my work than I was in them.”

Athera relaxed. “Oh. Well, that’s not the same as them saying that you’re boring.”

“It was obvious that they had no interest in my work,” he said stiffly. “When I spoke of it, I could tell that they were bored. I have a great deal of experience in recognizing others’ boredom.”

Her heart squeezed painfully. A great deal of experience in recognizing others’ boredom… did people really treat him so frequently like he was boring? 

“Well, I don’t think your work is boring,” she announced. “I mean, I would hope I don’t, seeing as we work at the same place.” 

His expression softened slightly, but he still looked quite stern. Athera squeezed his arm encouragingly. “Seriously, don’t worry about boring me. If you should worry about anything, it’s making me hangry.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Hangry?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t eaten anything all day. I’m going to turn into a monster if we don’t eat soon, so let’s get moving!” She hooked her hand through his elbow and pulled him along.

He huffed in amusement. “‘Hangry’. It is a portmanteau.”

She looked up at him. “Hm?”

“It is a portmanteau of ‘angry’ and ‘hungry’,” he said.

 _Portmanteau?_ she thought. She had literally never heard someone say that word out loud. She snorted a laugh, and Abelas tilted his head quizzically. 

“What is funny?” he asked.

“I totally forgot the word ‘portmanteau’ existed,” she said.

He huffed. “Another word that people don’t use, I presume?”

She giggled. “Yes, exactly. But I love it! In fact, I’m going to start making a list.” She released his arm and pulled her phone out of her coat pocket.

“A list?” he said.

“Yes, a list of all the words you use that I forgot about and want to start using too.” She started a new list in her reminders app. “Okay, I have ‘portmanteau’, and yesterday you said ‘volubly’...” She wrinkled her nose. “Argh, there was a really good word you used that other time when we were at the mall, do you remember what it was?”

He didn’t answer. When Athera looked up at him, it was to find him studying her with his eyebrows raised, as though he couldn’t quite understand what she was up to.

She made an apologetic face. “What? Is this really dumb?”

“No,” he said quietly. “It is not dumb.” He reached out and gently took her hand. “It’s fun.”

He was holding her hand. He — he was holding her hand! In public, where anyone could see! His golden eyes were softer and warmer than the noontime sun, and his hand was so big and safe with his fingers wrapped around hers, and she was definitely getting way more excited about this than she really needed to be.

She stared foolishly at him with her cheeks tingling with heat, and Abelas smiled faintly. “I’m afraid that I cannot remember the word I used at the mall, however.”

She scrambled to find her thoughts and her cool. “Okay, that’s — I mean, that’s okay, we’ll think about it,” she said. Then she brightened. “And then I bet we’ll remember at a random moment when we’re talking about something totally unrelated!”

“I hope that is the case,” he said. “Your so-called list of two words looks paltry otherwise.”

She grinned at him, surprised and amused by his remark. “Are you insulting my list?”

“Two words is not a list,” he said. “It is a glorified reminder.”

She laughed brightly. He always ripped on her at the most unexpected times. “In that case, _you_ need to keep using fancy words so I can make it into a proper list,” she said.

He smiled faintly, and Athera basked in the warmth of his smile and his big strong hand in hers. They continued to chat about idle little things as they walked to L’Avenue, and when they arrived to find the restaurant busy but with only a two-minute wait for a table, their good fortune only seemed fitting with the sunny weather and her sunny mood. 

The hostess seated them at a table near the window, and Athera smiled at Abelas as she opened her menu. “Let me know if you have any questions about the food! I’ve either tried or seen almost everything on the menu.”

“You have come here that frequently?” he asked.

She let out a little laugh. “Yeah. It’s the best restaurant in this area, and we love it. Me and the girls, I mean. Between the three of us, we’ve had almost everything here.”

He hummed an acknowledgement and dropped his gaze to the menu, and Athera watched fondly as his eyebrows creased into the kind of serious frown he wore when he was grading papers. Finally he looked up at her. “Do you already know what you will be having?”

“Yup,” she said. “I’m in the mood for my favourite.” She reached over the table and pointed at his menu. “This one here, the eggs benedict on _pain perdu_. So don’t order that one.”

“Why?” he said.

“So we don’t order the same thing,” she explained. “You can have half of mine.”

His eyebrows rose, and Athera realized that she was, yet again, unintentionally hitting on him via the sharing of food.

She quickly tried to recover. “I-I mean, if you want to share. You — we don’t have to. You can order whatever you want.”

“I would be pleased to share with you,” he said.

Her tummy flipped. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said. He glanced up once more and lifted one eyebrow. “Besides, I suspect that you would serve part of your meal to me whether you intended to or not.”

She gaped at him for a second. There was something subtly playful about his expression. Was he…? Oh spirits, he was flirting with her, wasn’t he?

Thrilled, she grinned and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I guess I have given you food pretty often. It’s about time you shared some with me.”

“I look forward to sharing with you,” he said. His eyes were on the menu once more and his voice was level and polite, but his lips were curled in the faintest smile, and a tingling sort of pulse swelled between Athera’s legs. She didn’t know why this conversation was turning her on, but it was.

 _It’s been too long since you had sex, that’s why,_ she told herself scathingly. She shifted a little awkwardly in her chair, and Abelas glanced up. “Are you all right?”

“Yep!” she chirped. She beamed at him like a maniac, then grabbed her glass of water and took a gulp. When the waiter appeared a second later, she was deeply relieved. 

They placed their orders, with Abelas ultimately choosing the halloumi Cobb salad. As soon as their waiter was gone, Athera propped her chin on her fists. “So,” she said brightly. “Tell me about your family!” 

His eyebrows rose. “My family?”

“Yeah!” she said. “You mentioned that you have younger siblings. Do they both live in Arlathan?”

“Yes,” he said. “They… my entire family lives in Arlathan.” Then he said nothing further.

 _Always shy to talk about himself,_ she thought fondly. “What do your siblings do?” she prompted. “How much younger are they?”

He gave her a cautious look, then ran his hand over his hair. “My younger brother is thirty-five. He is a concert pianist. My sister is thirty-two and an architect.”

She raised her eyebrows, genuinely impressed. “Wow, your whole family is so creative! A writer, a pianist and an architect?”

“I suppose you could see it that way,” he said. He lifted his glass of water and took a sip, and Athera gazed at him curiously. Why had he said that in such a rueful way?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said gently.

He glanced at her, then set his glass down. “My father is… was not especially pleased with our creative tendencies.”

She blinked. “What? Why?”

“He is deeply committed to the advancement and security of Arlathan,” Abelas said. “He believes that giving back to our country is the noblest purpose, and that all citizens of Arlathan should strive to do so. The arts absorb national funding without giving back in a tangible way.”

She frowned. “A tangible…? That’s — he can’t be serious, though. The arts are, like, the most important part of every country’s national identity.”

Abelas nodded an acknowledgment of this. “In fairness, my father is more lax in his opinions on this matter, likely as a result of his offspring all having successful careers in the arts. Or adjacent to the arts, in my sister’s case. But getting to this point was… something of a struggle for my siblings.”

“For your siblings?” she said. “Not for you?”

He shook his head. “You will recall that I was in the military for eight years. I fulfilled my national duty for several years longer than the requirement for conscription, which satisfied my father. Not that I did so under duress,” he said quickly. “I — it was my duty to take up the mantle of a soldier, and I took pride in it. My brother completed his required conscription period, but he did not take the same pride as I. It is fortunate that he became as successful a musician as he did.”

“Fortunate?” Athera said warily.

“Yes,” Abelas said. “It is rare for even well-trained and talented musicians to have successful careers. He is fortunate that his passion has been so lucrative.”

Athera studied him carefully. What he’d just told her and the way he’d said it, in such a matter-of-fact way… He really was a dichotomy. On the one hand, he was so romantic and tender, idolizing the sweetness of chivalry and courtship and harbouring a deep love of literature and poetry. On the other hand, he was so strict about rules and discipline, and he could be stubborn and closed-off about other cultures in a way that could be construed as… well, frankly, as being a little racist. And the thing he’d just said about his brother’s career was oddly old-fashioned — not in keeping with someone who was so passionate about literature and the arts.

But even in the time that Athera had been spending with him, he’d been opening up more, trying foods from other places and enjoying them, translating his Elvhen works into the common tongue despite his disdain for the latter. Now that Athera knew more about his family, and specifically about his father, it seemed like Abelas had the capacity to be flexible and open, but had been trained not to be. 

“Athera,” he said.

She blinked. “Hm?”

“You are staring,” he said wryly.

She straightened. “Oh! Oh.” She let out a little laugh. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“What were you thinking?” he asked.

“That you’re like a tree,” she said.

His eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

She blurted a laugh. “You’re — okay, don’t laugh at me for this super terrible analogy, but you’re like a tree. You’ve got this tough hard bark on the outside that’s kind of hard to get through, and I think a lot of people just give up trying to get past the bark. But underneath, you’re… you’re softer underneath. And sweet. Like maple syrup!”

“Like maple syrup?” he said slowly.

“Yeah,” she said brightly.

His bemused expression deepened. “But maple syrup is the product of boiling the sap from maple trees. It is not found inside the tree. And the sap does not taste particularly sweet fresh from the tree.”

She snorted a laugh. “Okay, fine, it was a really bad analogy. But I’m not the writer here. You are.”

He huffed. “A writer who has not written anything new in years.”

She sobered and leaned her elbows on the table. “That doesn’t matter, Abelas,” she said seriously. “You’re still a poet and a writer. And I think those interests would still be really important even if you hadn’t managed to make a lucrative career out of them.”

He looked her in the eye, and her heart twisted. He was frowning, but his expression was so much more complex than a simple frown. There was softness and a hint of sadness there, and his light golden eyes were piercing, like he was really studying her face for hints or clues — hints or clues as to what, Athera didn’t know.

He continued to gaze at her in silence, and she nervously licked her lips. “What’s on your mind?” she said softly. 

He didn’t reply. A tense moment later, the waiter came bustling back with two plates.

“All right,” he said jovially. “One halloumi Cobb salad, and one eggs benny on _pain perdu_.” He set the dishes carefully on the table, then smiled at them both. “Can I get you anything else?”

Abelas didn’t speak, and he continued to study Athera as though the waiter wasn’t even there. Athera gave the waiter a nervous smile. “We’re good for now, thanks!” 

The waiter nodded and left, and Athera picked up her knife and fork. “Yum, this looks really good—”

Abelas held out a hand. “Just a moment,” he said.

Athera paused, then watched quizzically as he started shifting the glasses and condiments on the table. He pulled her dish closer to him and picked up his knife and fork, then began shifting the food on their plates, and Athera realized with a thrill what he was doing.

He pushed his salad to one side of his plate, then transferred one of her _pain perdus_ onto his plate. Then he carefully moved half of his salad onto her plate instead. By the time he replaced her plate in front of her, her heart was pounding.

Very carefully, he picked up a slice of fried halloumi from his plate and delicately placed it on top of her salad. Then, at last, he looked up and met her gaze. 

His beautiful golden eyes were meltingly soft. “ _Enansal’in,_ ” he said softly, and he began to eat.

Athera sat there, paralyzed and lightheaded with giddiness and excitement and — yes, fine, with lust as well. Her heart was thrumming and her blood felt like it was tingling as it swam through her veins, and she literally could not remember ever feeling this unbelievably excited about anything that any boyfriend had ever done before. And it wasn’t like Abelas had really _done_ anything. All he had done was share his lunch with her — well, share his lunch with her and stare at her as though he was seeing straight into her heart — and yet here she was, dumbstruck and dizzy with the intensity of her feelings. 

Abelas ate a small piece of _pain perdu_ , then nodded approvingly. “This is quite delicious.”

She swallowed hard. _Words,_ she thought. _Words are good. You should use them._ She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Yep,” she said. “It’s super yummy.” She finally picked up her knife and fork and started to eat. 

She ate a bite of the fried halloumi and some salad, then selected a perfect slice of orange from her fruit kebab and deposited it on Abelas’s plate. 

He looked up at her, then smiled faintly, and the contentment in his face was too much for her to take: she grinned helplessly back at him, then began to laugh. 

His smile widened, and he began to laugh as well. And in the sound of Abelas’s mirth, Athera recognized the sound of pure joy.

*********************************

The rest of the day unfolded like something out of a Hercinian drama. They shared little stories of their families as they ate their lunch, Athera talking about her parents’ apiary work and laughing when Abelas admitted that he had randomly watched an entire documentary about beekeeping about a year ago. When Abelas spoke of his two nieces and his nephew, his face was suffused with a tender sort of warmth that made Athera want to climb into his arms and hug him until he couldn’t breathe. 

After lunch, they wandered slowly in the sweet autumn sunshine until they came across an open-air craft market. Athera pulled Abelas through the market, demanding his opinion on the various carvings and knitted scarves and homemade jams and foodstuffs, and when he eventually started offering his opinion without her needing to ask, she was even more delighted. He bought her a jar of Antivan spiced honey, and she bought him an authentic Dalish spiderweb charm to hang over his bed at night. As they were leaving the market, he took her hand once more, and Athera was so thrilled by the feeling of his fingers twined with hers that she thought her heart might burst. 

They wandered through the neighbourhood toward Parc Lafontaine, then strolled aimlessly through the park, pausing every now and again to sit on a bench so Athera could rest her impractically-shod feet. Every time they took a seat, Athera noticed that they were sitting closer and closer to each other — close enough that eventually her knee was brushing against his. Close enough that she could smell the warm fragrance of his cologne, and close enough that her whole body was starting to buzz with anticipation every time they sat.

By the time they began slowly making their way back toward Athera’s apartment, it was late afternoon. Her feet were hurting from all the walking they had done and she was starting to get hungry again, but Abelas was holding her hand, and he was so tall and he smelled so lovely, and she was both dreading and anticipating the moment when this incredibly idyllic date would end: dreading because she did _not_ want him to leave her side, but anticipating because — well, because… 

She darted a glance at his face — no, not just his face, but his lips — and a pulse of giddiness filled her chest and throat.

Finally, at long last, they were standing outside of her building. They drew to a stop by the back door, and Abelas squeezed her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “The pleasure of spending this day with you has been… genuinely unrivalled.”

“I had an amazing time, too,” she said fervently. “Seriously, Abelas, thank you. For lunch and for the honey and — and for just — it was such a nice day.”

He smiled. “I agree wholeheartedly.”

She beamed at him, and neither of them spoke for a second — a second in which the very air between them seemed to thicken. She nervously wet her lips, and Abelas’s gaze drifted down to her mouth. 

Her heart leapt. _Kiss me,_ she thought hopefully. _Kiss me, kiss me…_

She pulled in a tremulous breath of air. “Um…”

He lifted one hand and reached slowly toward her face, and her breath stuttered in her throat. Abelas gently framed her chin with his fingers, then tipped up her chin. 

She stared breathlessly at him, dizzy and jittery with hope — oh spirits, oh Creators, he was lowering his face to hers…!

And then, finally, at long last, she got her wish: Abelas kissed her. 

His lips were soft and gentle but insistent, pressing against her slightly parted lips with a tender sort of care that made her entire body feel like it was filling up with hot air. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, and Athera eagerly followed his lead, tilting her head back and melting toward him, yearning helplessly for the tenderness and care in the press of his mouth. 

She rested her hands on his waist, and his breath hitched — a tiny hitch like the precursor to a gasp, and the whisper-soft sound of it was like a spark in her blood. A rush of desire pulsed through her body, in her ears and cheeks and between her legs, and Athera couldn’t help herself: she leaned into his body until her chest was brushing against the base of his ribs.

He sighed softly against her lips before kissing her again. His hand slipped from her chin to cup the side of her neck, and this time when he sealed his lips over hers, he brushed the tip of his tongue over her lower lip.

Her heart throbbed between her legs. His tongue, his — oh gods, oh gods, he hadn’t kissed her with tongue before. She — fuck, she had wanted this, all afternoon she’d wanted this and hoped for this and prayed for it, and now that she was on the verge of having it, she wasn’t sure her overeager body could cope.

He cradled her neck in both hands and gently lapped at her tongue, and Athera felt her pulse ratcheting with excitement. The subtle possessiveness of his hands on her neck, the feel of his lips locked to hers, the intimate heat of his tongue slipping into her mouth… 

She whimpered softly and pressed her fingers into his waist, and Abelas made a sound: a low-pitched breath of a sound, like a cross between a sigh and a grunt, and a flush of goosebumps fanned across her skin. That sound, that little grunt-sigh — oh gods, and he was tilting his head and coaxing her lips wider— 

He lapped at her tongue again, a sensual slide of his tongue along the length of hers, and Athera melted shamelessly into his chest. His body was so big and hard, and brushing against her belly through the layers of their coats, she could feel — she — was that…?

 _Yes,_ she thought with a dizzying rush of excitement. The hardness of his chest, the hardness of _that_ ridge pressing into her belly… Her body felt like it had been flooded with nearly-unbearable feeling, and all she wanted was to be closer to him. 

She licked his tongue, and he made that sound again and kissed her more firmly, and Athera whimpered into his mouth. What had started as a delicate kiss was swiftly becoming the most passionate kiss Athera had ever had, the heat of his body and his tongue and his hands on her neck, all fostering the thrumming heat of desire in her blood and her cheeks and at the apex of her thighs…

She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he sighed shakily against her lips before kissing her once more. A blissful eternity later, when Abelas brushed his thumb over the angle of her jaw and carefully peeled his lips away from hers, Athera was so utterly awash with lust and besottedness that she couldn’t speak. 

He pressed his forehead to hers, and his tremulous exhale breezed across her kiss-swollen lips. “ _Iselen’odheasha_ ,” he whispered.

 _Waiting to breathe,_ she thought. Giddy with desire and happiness, she smiled at him and tightened her arms around him. “Is that how you feel?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. He stroked her cheekbones with his thumbs. “And you? How do you feel?”

She beamed at him, then lifted herself on her tiptoes and kissed him. He smiled against her lips, then tilted his head and parted his lips over hers, and as Athera sank into the tender stroke of his tongue and the tender warmth of his mouth, she marvelled at the fact that Abelas was right.

Athera had been waiting to breathe for her entire life, and she hadn’t even known it. And now, as Abelas coaxed her into another slow and wonderful kiss, she savoured just how very sweet it was to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KISSIES!!!! 👄😂
> 
> Elven terms, as always, are made up from FenxShiral's resources.
> 
> Has anyone out there been to Montreal? I lived there for several years, so I kind of just imagine Val Royeaux to be a fancier version of Montreal with actual high-rises in some places. To that end, L’Avenue was my fave brunch place in Montreal, and Parc Lafontaine was a nice big park that I always lived within walking distance of. 
> 
> Next up: Tamaris POV, and some girl talk… 👀


	44. Spoiled

###  TAMARIS 

Tamaris tucked her hands in her pockets as she and Felassan made their way to her apartment. “So yeah, I do get requests for stretchmark camouflage sometimes, but I just… I don’t know. I don’t love the idea of trying to hide stretchmarks,” she said. “Or the implication that stretchmarks or birthmarks are something to be ashamed of when it’s just something your skin does. Sometimes I can talk people into getting a tattoo that embraces the shape of the stretchmarks, like…” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’ve turned someone’s stretchmarks into a stylized tree before. One client had a port-wine stain birthmark over his eye, so I incorporated it into his vallaslin. But if the client really wants someone to just straight-up camouflage their stretchmarks, I refer to them to someone who specializes in that kind of tattoo. It’s not my area of specialty and I don’t really like doing it, so I just… don’t.”

Felassan smiled faintly. “Ah, turning down unpalatable jobs. Such is the joy of working for yourself.”

“Exactly,” she said.

“What about scar cover-ups?” Felassan asked.

“I’ll do that, sure,” she said easily. “I especially like those jobs if the client has a meaningful design in mind for the scar. If they’re just trying to hide the scar and don’t have any specific design in mind, I’ll still try to persuade them to get a design that kind of celebrates the shape of the scar rather than outright hiding it.” She made a little face. “Which probably makes it sound like I’m meddling, but if people don’t like my suggestions, I just refer them elsewhere.”

Felassan grinned. “And how often do you refer people elsewhere?”

“Less often than you’d think, considering what a bitch I am,” she said with a rueful smile.

He chuckled. “I suspect that they like what a bitch you are.”

“How do you figure that?” she said skeptically.

He cleared his throat dramatically. “I quote from that student of mine: ‘I would let her step on me any day.’”

Tamaris laughed. “I still can’t believe one of your students said that.”

“I can,” Felassan said with a grin.

She scoffed. “What are you saying? Do _you_ want to be stepped on now?”

His grin widened even further. “Why? Are you offering?”

She eyed him speculatively, then scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“Fair enough,” he said affably. “I’m more than happy to keep bossing you around.”

_Smug jerk,_ she thought affectionately. She smirked and poked his abs. “Shut up, you.”

He grabbed her hand and pretended to bite it, and Tamaris playfully pinched his chin. He snickered, then slung his arm around her neck. “This reminds me, I’m still thinking about that slow arrow design you did for me.”

Her heart did a little flip. “Oh yeah?” she said casually.

“Yes indeed,” he said. “The more I think about it, the more I want you to make it a reality. Can you quote a price for me?”

Tamaris hesitated. She could give him a quote right now on the spot, but… in truth, Felassan wasn’t the only one who’d been thinking about that tattoo design. Tamaris had been thinking about it as well, even sketching out little personalized touches to add to the design based on the things she’d learned about him. The more time she spent with Felassan, the more she wanted to do this tattoo for him… and the less she wanted to charge him for it. 

He tilted his head quizzically, and Tamaris shook her head. “I can’t give you a quote for it. Not yet.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Not yet? Why not?”

“I’m adding things to the design,” she said, not untruthfully. “Give me a couple weeks.”

He shrugged. “Fair enough. A couple of weeks it is.”

They continued their leisurely stroll to her apartment. Felassan walked her up to her door, and as Tamaris fished her keys out of her purse, he leaned casually against the wall. 

“All right,” he said. “I’ll see you later then.”

She paused with her keys halfway out of her purse. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re coming back to mine later, aren’t you?” he said.

“I can,” she said hesitantly. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course,” he said. “Don’t you want to?”

She bit back a smile and shrugged casually. She’d stayed over at his apartment three times this week already, and honestly, she would have stayed over more. But she had this weird stupid feeling like she was giving away too much by going over to his place all the time. She knew it was irrational, and she knew that he would probably laugh if she told him this. But there was no arguing with the stubborn vestiges of the walls she’d put up around herself — walls that Felassan was steadily bringing down with every night she spent with him. 

He gave her a chiding smile. “ _Avise._ Are you playing hard to get?”

She scoffed and took out her keys. “Kind of tough to play hard to get when I fucked you this morning.”

He grinned wolfishly. “An excellent point. What’s your hesitation, then?”

She shrugged and slotted her key into the door, conveniently avoiding his eye as she did. “No hesitation. I’ll see you later.”

“Good,” he said. Then he put his hand over the doorknob to stop her from going in.

She glanced at him. “What?” 

He smiled slowly. “Kiss me, _felasil’ain._ ”

Her heart lifted. She gave him a chiding smirk, then took hold of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. 

He slowly backed her against the door as he deepened the kiss, and Tamaris gave herself over to the blissful pull of his lips and the sleekness of his tongue. By the time he broke the kiss, his body was flush to hers and his thigh was between her legs, and she was _really_ regretting having booked herself a client this afternoon. 

She exhaled slowly and gently bumped her nose to his. “I already told you I would come back tonight,” she murmured. “You didn’t have to bring out the big guns.”

“Big guns, hm?” he purred. “You minx.”

She laughed huskily, then pushed him away. “Go home, you rogue. Keep it in your pants for now.”

“For now,” he said slyly. He winked at her and sauntered away, and she smiled goofily as she opened the apartment door. 

She stepped inside and kicked off her boots. “I’m home,” she called. 

Nare poked her head out of the studio. “Hey! What time is your client again?”

“One-thirty, so you still have some time to paint in there,” Tamaris said. She hung up her coat and purse, then wandered into the studio and sat on her padded stool. “Is Athera gone for her date?”

“Yeah, she and Abelas left about an hour ago,” Nare said. 

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Wait, they left together? Did he stay overnight or something?”

“No, but he almost did,” Nare said. “I came home and found him asleep in the chair beside her bed.”

“You’re kidding,” Tamaris said in surprise.

“Nope,” Nare said cheerfully. “He was holding her hand.”

Tamaris scoffed. “That’s so sweet I think my fucking teeth might fall out.”

“I know, right?” Nare said. “They’re so cute.”

Tamaris smiled faintly as she turned on her laptop, then spun around on her stool to face Nare, who was working at her easel. “What time did you end up getting home last night?”

She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Around midnight, I think? Solas gave me a ride.”

“Oh, nice,” Tamaris said. She tried to remember what time she and Felassan had gotten back to his place. Maybe around eleven-thirty or something? So Nare hadn’t been alone with Solas for that long. 

She turned back to her laptop to pull up the tattoo design for her client this afternoon. “What are you working on over there?”

“A portrait study with oils,” she said. “This is my second attempt. I might have to scrap it and try a third time.”

“Can I see?” Tamaris asked.

Nare grimaced. “I guess.”

Tamaris smirked and stood up. “Don’t give me that face. I love seeing your stuff.” She joined Nare behind her easel and inspected the painting she was working on. It was a portrait of a dark-skinned human model, and Tamaris admired it silently for a moment. 

“You’re working on capturing the lighting on the skin,” she said.

Nare perked up. “Yes! You can tell that’s what I’m trying to highlight, then?”

“Yeah, totally,” Tamaris said.

“Okay, good,” Nare said with a smile. “That’s something I’ve been finding hard to adjust to with oils. It’s so much easier for me with watercolours.”

Tamaris nodded. “How come you’ve been spending so much time working with oils these days?”

“It’s for my final thesis project,” she said. “I want to do a bunch of portraits in different paint mediums, so I have to brush up on my oils. Solas is like a master with oil painting, so he’s been giving me private lessons at the school’s studio and stuff.”

Tamaris frowned. “I thought he was a muralist.” 

“He is,” Nare said. “But he works in oils too, and he does beautiful anatomical studies.” Her expression was neutral and pleasant as she spoke, and Tamaris eyed her for a second before returning to her stool.

She sat down and cocked her head. “So you have a thing for him, huh?”

Nare’s eyes darted to her face then back to the easel. “Why do you say that?”

“You stayed behind at his place last night,” Tamaris said.

Nare clicked her tongue. “Oh come on, I was just helping him to tidy.”

“Right,” Tamaris drawled. “To tidy.”

Nare huffed in amusement. “Someone’s mind is in the gutter.”

“And someone’s ears are turning pink,” Tamaris replied.

Nare lowered her brush and gave Tamaris a pleading look, and Tamaris lifted her shoulders. “What? So you have a crush on your prof. Remember how hard Athera used to crush on Kenric back in Kirkwall?”

Nare laughed. “Oh my gods, yeah. She felt so bad about it too.”

Tamaris smirked. “Yeah, as though it was her fault for having a thing for him. Hard to control who you get a boner for.”

Nare snorted a laugh, but she wasn’t meeting Tamaris’s eye. Tamaris studied her for a second longer, then tucked her hands in her pockets. “So I guess I know now who you’ve been thinking about while you’ve been ‘reading’ in your room.”

Nare covered her face and groaned. “Tam…”

“What?” Tamaris said. “There’s no shame in it. He’s definitely got those daddy vibes you like.”

Nare put down her brush. “I’m going to get some tea. Do you want some?” She left the studio without waiting for an answer.

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t normal for Nare to be this close-lipped about guys.

She followed her into the kitchen. Nare was filling the kettle, and she didn’t look up when Tamaris sat on the kitchen counter. 

Tamaris studied her for a second before speaking. “You can tell me if I’m being a nosy bitch, you know. I can lay off.”

Nare finally gave her a tiny smile as she flicked on the kettle. “You’re fine. No more of a nosy bitch than usual.”

Tamaris smirked, then tilted her head. “You can also just tell me if you have feelings for Solas,” she said gently. “You know I wouldn’t care.”

Nare smiled awkwardly and studied her shelf of tea, and Tamaris eyed her in silence as she selected a box of tea and placed a teabag in her empty mug. She tapped her fingers on the counter as the kettle boiled, and Tamaris watched her with rising concern.

She leaned forward slightly. “Nare, did he do something? If he did something you didn’t want…”

Nare looked up in alarm. “What? No! No no, it’s — oh my gods, no.”

“Okay,” Tamaris said warily. “Because if he’s done anything to fuck with you—”

“He hasn’t,” Nare said sharply. “He wouldn’t. He… it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?” Tamaris asked.

Nare stared at her for a second, then took a deep breath and poured water into the mug, and Tamaris waited tensely for her to speak. 

Finally, Nare turned to look at her with a faintly belligerent expression. “I seduced him,” she said. “It’s — we’re sleeping together because _I_ seduced him.”

For a second, Tamaris’s mind blanked with surprise. They were — they _were_ sleeping together, then? Nare really was sleeping with her supervisor?

She gaped at Nare for a moment, then pulled herself together. “Okay. Holy fuck.”

Nare exhaled and looked away, and Tamaris slid off of the counter. “Look, I’m not judging, I swear,” she said hastily. “I just — Nare, holy fuck.”

“I know what it sounds like, okay?” she burst out. She tugged one of her braids and started pacing nervously around the kitchen. “I know what it sounds like. I’m a terrible person and a cliché—”

“Okay, hold up,” Tamaris said firmly. “I didn’t say any of that, and I wouldn’t say that. I’m just… I’m — okay, first of all, I’m surprised you _wanted_ to seduce him since — well, you have that pain problem, right?”

Nare stopped pacing, and her face slackened with surprise. “That’s why you’re surprised?”

Tamaris grimaced. “I mean, that’s one of the reasons. A month ago you were just telling us how you’re not interested in meeting anyone, and now you…” She trailed off as something occurred to her. 

She looked at Nare with wide eyes. “Hang on, when did you start sleeping with him?”

“U-um, a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “Why?”

_A couple of weeks?_ Tamaris wracked her brain, then gave Nare a shrewd look. “Were you already fucking him when we went dress shopping?”

Nare made a little face, and Tamaris’s jaw dropped. “You were? So you bought that expensive underwear for him, then?”

Nare shuffled her feet awkwardly. “Well—” 

Tamaris cut her off. “Did you see him at the mall?”

Nare’s eyes darted up to her face. “Wha— why?”

“We met you at the Black Emporium, and he was there already,” Tamaris said. “Did you meet him there?”

Nare’s ears went red, and Tamaris stared at her with growing awe. “Holy shit. Did you fuck him at the Black Emporium?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“No!” Nare protested. She scuffed her toe on the floor. “I didn’t _fuck_ him…”

The implication in her words was clear. Tamaris stared at her for a second longer, then barked out an incredulous laugh. 

Nare gaped at her, then smiled weakly. “You’re laughing about this? Seriously?”

“Please tell me you didn’t buy that dress because he came on it,” Tamaris said.

“No!” Nare exclaimed, and she started to laugh. “Oh my gods, Tam.” 

“Okay, just making sure,” Tamaris said with a smirk. “That would be a pretty expensive cumrag.” 

Nare laughed harder, and Tamaris grinned and sat on the counter once more. “Seriously though, how did this happen? Or why, I guess? Like… why him, specifically? I hate to sound like the mom friend or some shit, but… I mean, he’s your supervisor.”

Nare sighed. “I know. It’s bad. But…” She trailed off and slowly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Tamaris waited quietly for her to speak.

Nare took a deep breath and looked her in the eye. “Sex doesn’t hurt with him.”

Tamaris blinked in genuine surprise. “Really?”

Nare nodded. “It… he’s… I’ve never told any guys about the pain thing. But I… I told Solas, and he… I don’t know how he understood it, but he did. He does, I mean. He…” She exhaled slowly, then smiled — a bittersweet smile that made Tamaris’s heart ache. 

“It is so good with him, Tam,” she said softly. “I didn’t know sex could be that good. I didn’t know it could even _be_ good.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Holy shit. That’s incredible.”

“Yeah,” Nare whispered.

They were both quiet for a second. Then Tamaris spoke again. “And… so your supervision stuff. That’s been… has it been okay?”

Nare relaxed. “Actually, it’s been great. Seriously, I’ve learned so much from him.” She jerked her chin at the studio. “That painting technique? That’s mostly thanks to him. Some Youtube tutorials too, but he’s taught me so much.”

“Well, that’s good,” Tamaris said guardedly. “I—” She broke off as she remembered something else. “Wait a second. Aren’t you in one of his classes?”

Nare winced. “Yeah…”

Tamaris gaped at her, then snorted a laugh, and Nare wilted. “Tam!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tamaris said. “It’s just…” She snorted again and shook her head. “Damn, Nare. When you decide to break a dry spell, you _really_ break it, huh?”

Nare smiled sheepishly, then laughed and ran her hands over her hair. “Gods. This is… you know what, I really shouldn’t have told you, but I’m kind of relieved.”

“Yeah?” Tamaris said with a smile.

“Yeah,” Nare said. “It’s been hard keeping it from you and Athera.”

Tamaris hummed an acknowledgement, then widened her eyes. “Oh hey, you must have some great sex stories that you’ve been holding back.”

Nare blurted a laugh. “Tamaris!”

Tamaris gave her a teasing smile. “Oh come on, you’re always begging stories from me. It’s your turn. Tell me the truth, do you call him ‘daddy’ when he fucks you?”

Nare laughed harder. “No, okay? No, I don’t.” 

There was something mischievous about her smile, though, and when Tamaris gave her a knowing look, she laughed again. “I don’t call him ‘daddy’,” she said. “I…” She rubbed her nose, then smiled at Tamaris. “I call him ‘professor’.”

Tamaris’s jaw dropped in delight. “No fucking way.” 

Nare’s smile widened, and they both burst into hysterical laughter. 

When they finally calmed down, Tamaris wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “Okay. That’s fucking amazing. But, I mean… you know as well as I do that this is a bad idea.”

Nare sobered and dropped her gaze. “Yeah, I know…”

Tamaris waved her hand. “I’m not judging. Seriously, I’m not. I just… I really hope he doesn’t fuck you over. I mean, he can literally fuck you all you want,” she said with a small smile, “but I hope he doesn’t fuck with your degree. I don’t want to see this blow up in your face.”

“It won’t,” Nare said. “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”

“He could, though,” Tamaris said cautiously. 

“He won’t,” Nare said firmly. “I know he won’t.”

Tamaris studied her carefully. Nare sounded really naïve. “You can’t know that he won’t fuck you over,” she said. “Nobody can ever know that.”

Nare wilted slightly and gave her a pointed look. “Then how can you trust Felassan, if nobody can ever know for sure that they can trust anyone?”

Her heart jolted as Nare’s words hit her in a spot that was still tender. “I don’t know for sure that I can trust him,” she said evenly. “That’s my point.”

“And that’s _my_ point,” Nare said. “You trust Felassan even though it’s risky, right? And I trust Solas.”

“But Felassan doesn’t have any real-world power over me,” Tamaris pointed out. “And Solas isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your supervisor that you happen to be sleeping with.”

Nare looked away and folded her arms, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Hang on. Your thing with Solas is just sex, isn’t it?”

Nare stared fixedly at the opposite wall, and Tamaris slumped. “Oh. Oh, shit.”

Nare gave her an exasperated look. “You’re the only person I know who’d be more upset about being in love than empty sex.”

“So you’re in love with him, then?” Tamaris said swiftly.

Nare wilted, and Tamaris held up a hand. “Look, _I’m_ all fucked up with trust issues and shit, but you’re not. And that’s really my point. If you love him…” She exhaled and dragged a hand through her hair. “I just… don’t want you to get hurt like I did.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Nare said loudly. “He — we’re in love. He loves me too.”

Tamaris studied her worriedly. Maybe Nare just sounded defensive because Tamaris was on her case, but she somehow wasn’t convinced. Furthermore, even if Solas _did_ love Nare, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her. People could do the worst fucking things to the ones they loved. 

Nare was sipping from her mug of tea now, but her shoulders were hunched, and her eyebrows were creased into a small frown. Tamaris studied her sadly for a second, then finally sighed. “Nare, I’m happy for you.”

Nare shot her a skeptical look. “Really?”

“Yes,” Tamaris said. “I’m happy that you’re getting railed on the regular and enjoying it.”

Nare’s eyebrows shot up. Then she let out a little laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

Tamaris smiled faintly. “Seriously, I am happy about that. I — after years of shitty sex, you deserve this. I’m glad you found it.”

“But you’re still worried,” Nare said.

“Yeah, I am,” Tamaris said bluntly. “But I don’t think you can blame me.”

Nare shrugged and looked away, and Tamaris doggedly went on. “I’m not going to nag you or anything. You’re a big girl and you can make your own choices, so I’m not going to nag. Just… talk to me if you need to talk to someone about this, okay? If shit happens, tell me. I don’t want you to just sit with it on your own. That would be the fucking worst.”

Nare softened and look her in the eye once more. “Okay. Thanks.” 

Tamaris nodded, then gave her a teasing look. “So. Tell me dick details. Is he big?”

Nare burst out laughing again. “He’s perfect,” she giggled. Then she gave Tamaris a sly smile. “Just like how you feel about Felassan’s cock, if I remember right.”

Tamaris huffed. “Yeah, Felassan’s cock is good. I think I’ll keep it.”

Nare snickered, then tilted her head curiously. “You don’t really think you’re still fucked up, do you?”

Tamaris shrugged and idly swung her feet. “I don’t know. I can say for sure that I’m less fucked up than before I met him.”

“That’s good,” Nare said encouragingly. 

“Yeah,” Tamaris said. “I just…” She shrugged and ran her hand through her curls. “He’s so open with me. And fucking patient. He deserves… I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “It’s the trust thing, right? I want to trust him. I mean, I do trust him. But I’m still… scared of giving him as much as he gives me. Which is fucking stupid, so I hope I’ll just get over it soon.”

Nare smiled broadly at her, and she raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You do realize that even a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t be able to say that stuff?” Nare said.

Tamaris frowned in confusion. “Huh?”

“You refused to talk about this stuff with me and Athera for years,” Nare said. “Now look at you.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“He’s been good for you,” Nare said softly.

Tamaris huffed and looked away. She knew that Nare was right; meeting Felassan was the best thing that had happened to her in years. She was way happier and less irritable now, and she was able to find humour now in things that would previously have enraged her. 

Her heart was fluttering in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Unnerved by her own feelings, she shrugged casually. “Yeah. I guess you could say he fucked the rage out of me.”

Nare laughed brightly. “You’re so filthy.”

“You love it,” Tamaris said with a grin.

“Yeah, I do,” Nare said happily. They went back to the studio, and Nare picked up her brush to continue with her portrait while Tamaris checked her work emails and her Instagram for new referrals and enquiries. 

A few peaceful minutes later, Nare spoke into the silence. “Are you going to tell Felassan?”

“Tell him what?” Tamaris said distractedly. 

“About me and Solas.”

Tamaris looked up from her laptop. “Do you not want me to?”

Nare hesitated before replying. “Solas is worried about Felassan knowing.”

Tamaris frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Nare admitted. “He just… seemed worried about Felassan finding out.”

“That’s weird,” Tamaris said. “It’s not like Felassan would do anything about it.”

“He wouldn’t?” Nare said.

“No,” Tamaris said. “I mean, he’d probably laugh like I did, but it’s not like he’d tell the university or something.”

Nare raised her eyebrows, but her expression was hopeful. “You don’t think so?”

Tamaris shook her head. “He wouldn’t do that. He’s… just trust me, he wouldn’t.”

Nare gave her a wry look. “Trust, huh?”

Tamaris realized the irony of what she’d just said. She exhaled slowly and gave Nare a frank look. “Yeah. I really trust that he wouldn’t say anything. But it’s… I mean, it’s not my secret to tell.” Even as she made the implied promise to not tell Felassan, though, her gut started to churn with discomfort. The idea of purposely concealing something from Felassan made her feel uncomfortable, especially since he was so open with her. 

She and Nare were quiet for a second. Then Nare sighed. “You can tell him.”

Tamaris relaxed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Nare said. “It’s enough that Solas and I are lying to everyone. I don’t want you to have to lie for us too.” She gave Tamaris a pleading look. “Please just tell him not to tell anyone, okay?”

Tamaris frowned. The way Nare talked about her and Solas lying to everyone… “Are you sure you’re okay with what you and Solas have?” she said.

Nare gave her a quizzical look, and she shrugged. “It’s a big fucking secret to hide. Especially since it’s more than just sex.”

Nare shrugged and smiled sadly. “We have to hide it. If we admit what’s going on, he’ll lose his job and I’ll lose my supervisor. Having anything with him is better than nothing.”

_That fucking sucks,_ Tamaris thought. “Okay,” she said. “Well, I hope he’s worth it.”

“He is,” Nare said confidently. “You’ll see when you get to know him better.”

_How am I supposed to do that if he’s not even allowed to be your boyfriend?_ she thought. But she bit her tongue and didn’t point this out. It would be too cruel.

They worked quietly for a while longer. Then Tamaris spoke up. “We probably shouldn’t tell Athera, hey?”

Nare looked up, and her face twisted with guilt. “Yeah,” she said softly. “It’s… it would be too much of a dilemma for her. She’ll feel horrible if she knows. And she’s dating Abelas now…”

Tamaris huffed. “Yeah, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d be cool with his colleague fucking a student.”

Nare sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Tam, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to rope you into this.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Tamaris insisted. “I’m the one who prodded you about it. And I won’t tell Athera. I think it’s for the best for all of you guys if she doesn’t know.”

Nare’s face squinched up with guilt. “I still feel bad about it though.”

“I know,” Tamaris said. “All the more reason that you and Solas should figure your shit out sooner than later.”

Nare’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Tamaris gave her a disbelieving look. “Don’t tell me you were planning to keep this a secret for the whole two years of your degree.”

Nare made a face. “Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“That’s pretty fucking obvious,” Tamaris said bluntly. 

Nare shot her a wry smile. “Okay, _now_ you’re being a bitch.”

Tamaris laughed. “Fair enough. Okay, I’ll stop nagging so you can get back to your painting.”

“Okay,” Nare said. “And, um, thanks.”

“For what?” Tamaris said. “Getting up in your business?”

Nare huffed. “Definitely not for that. But for, you know, not thinking badly of me.”

“I don’t think badly of you,” Tamaris said seriously. “If I think badly of anyone, it’s Solas.”

Nare opened her mouth to protest, but Tamaris held up a hand. “I’m not going to go off about it, I swear. I’m just on high alert for any fuckery.”

Nare sighed. “Okay. But you’ll see, there won’t be any fuckery.”

“There better not, or I’ll make him regret it,” Tamaris retorted.

Nare stuck her tongue out, and Tamaris wrinkled her nose playfully and turned back to her laptop. They worked and chatted quietly in the studio until a quarter to two, and then Nare tidied up her paints so Tamaris could have the space for her client. 

A few hours later, Nare was prepping for dinner and Tamaris was cleaning up after her client when she heard the front door opening.

“Hi!” Athera called. “I’m home!”

Tamaris dropped her gloves in the trash and stepped out of the studio. “Did you have a good time?” 

Athera hung up her coat and turned to face them, and Tamaris smiled; Athera’s cheeks were rosy, and her whole face was lit up with happiness. 

Nare grinned at Tamaris. “I think she had a good time.”

Athera clasped her hands together and beamed at them. “You guys, I had the _best_ time. He’s so dreamy.”

Tamaris chuckled. “Oh boy. Okay, tell us everything.”

Athera kicked off her flats and flitted into the kitchen. “We went for brunch, and then we went to the weekend craft market on Duluth, and — oh, he bought me this honey, I put it in my bag!” She hurried back to her purse and continued to talk. “He bought me this honey and then we went for a walk in the park, and… aw, he’s just so dreamy.”

Tamaris smirked. “You mentioned that already.”

Athera took a jar of honey out of her bag and reverently placed it on the kitchen counter, then glided over to Tamaris and hugged her arm. “He kissed me,” she cooed.

Nare raised her eyebrows. “Didn’t he kiss you already in his office?”

“Yeah, but not like this!” Athera said. “This was…” She sighed and leaned her head on Tamaris’s shoulder. “This was the best kiss ever. Literally the best kiss I’ve ever had in my whole life.”

Nare grinned, and Tamaris quirked one eyebrow. “Do you need some alone-time to go fantasize about this kiss?” she drawled. 

“Yes,” Athera said dreamily.

Tamaris and Nare both laughed, and Athera laughed as well and patted her flushed cheeks. “Seriously. It was such a good kiss. He’s so romantic.”

“Romantic how?” Nare said avidly.

“Yeah, like what?” Tamaris chimed in.

Athera beamed at them. “Like putting food on my plate and saying the sweetest things.”

Nare raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, I wouldn’t have taken him for a dirty talker.”

Tamaris snorted, and Athera smacked Nare’s arm. “Not dirty talk! Just sweet talk.”

Nare smiled. “Sweet talk? That’s really nice.”

Athera nodded happily. Then, to Tamaris’s surprise, her face fell. She grabbed Nare’s hands. “Oh spirits, am I swooning too much? I don’t want to go on and on…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Nare said quickly. “I told you, I want to hear about it.”

Tamaris gave them a curious look, and Nare explained. “I told Athera earlier that I was feeling a little jealous of you guys for having Felassan and Abelas.”

“And I told her that she’ll find someone who sees how great she is and she’ll be just as happy as we are,” Athera said firmly, and she hugged Nare’s arm. 

_Fuck,_ Tamaris thought with a pang of sympathy. That just made Nare’s whole Solas situation feel even sadder. 

Nare, meanwhile, was patting Athera’s hand. “Seriously, I’m feeling way better now,” she said. “And I don’t want you guys skimping on the gossip.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Athera said. She hugged Nare’s arm for a second longer, then released her. “Well, I’m going to go change.”

“Just to change?” Nare said playfully.

“Not to ‘do some yoga’?” Tamaris teased.

Athera laughed and pinched Tamaris’s arm. “Yes, you butt, just to change. I’m too hungry for any kind of yoga.” She hopefully eyed the vegetables that Nare was chopping. “Is that dinner?”

“It will be,” Nare said, and she went back to her chopping. “Tofu and veggie stir-fry.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Tamaris said.

Nare laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Tamaris said. “You enjoy your tofu. Felassan will feed me some real food.”

“Real food like his cock?” Nare said slyly.

Tamaris smiled slowly. “I sure hope so.”

Nare and Athera laughed, and Athera skipped off to her bedroom. “Have a great time! See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow,” Tamaris called. When Athera’s bedroom door closed, she raised her eyebrows at Nare.

“You okay?” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” Nare said brightly. “I’m good. Really.”

Tamaris eyed her for a second, then stepped closer to her. “Get over here,” she said gruffly, and she pulled Nare into a hug. 

Nare huffed and hugged her back. “You’re hugging me? I must really be pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic,” Tamaris murmured. “You’re just…” She trailed off, unsure what to say. Everything she was thinking seemed too unkind to say out loud: _you’re being naïve. You deserve better. If he hurts you, I’ll fucking destroy him._

She wracked her brain for something appropriate to say. “I want you to be happy,” she said finally. 

Nare’s arms tightened around her for a second. Then she pulled away. “I am,” she said. “I am happy. Don’t worry about me.”

Tamaris eyed her determined smile with a pang, then squeezed her arm and went to put on her boots and her leather jacket. She picked up her bag and raised her eyebrows. “Text me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” Nare said with a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

Tamaris nodded, then left the apartment and made her way down the stairs. Once she was out on the street, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped open her texts to Felassan.

_Tamaris 5:17 p.m.  
I’m on my way_

A minute later, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

_Felassan 5:18 p.m.  
Excellent timing. I was just about to season the steak._

_Tamaris 5:18 p.m.  
We’re having steak?_

_Felassan 5:18 p.m.  
We certainly are._

_Tamaris 5:18 p.m.  
What’s the occasion_

_Felassan 5:18 p.m.  
No occasion. I enjoy spoiling you._

Her heart thumped with contentment. She smiled stupidly at the text for a moment, then tapped out a reply.

_Tamaris 5:18 p.m.  
More like you’re making up for feeding me fucking vegan shepherd’s pie last night_

_Felassan 5:18 p.m.  
That too. I’m feeling especially contrite. 🥺_

_Tamaris 5:18 p.m.  
Don’t give me that emoji, I can see you grinning_

_Felassan 5:18 p.m.  
Damn, you’ve seen right through me. I’ll have to find some other way to prove how sorry I am._

She could easily hear the mischievous curl of laughter in his voice. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing as she tapped out a response.

_Tamaris 5:19 p.m.  
I can think of a few ways_

_Felassan 5:19 p.m.  
Interesting. Do tell?_

_Tamaris 5:19 p.m.  
I’d rather show you_

_Felassan 5:19 p.m.  
Mercy, avise. I’m trying to focus on cooking. _

_Tamaris 5:19 p.m.  
Don’t burn anything_

_Felassan 5:19 p.m.  
😂 Cruel minx. I’ll see you soon._

She smirked and tucked her phone back in her pocket. _He really does spoil me,_ she thought, and not just with the delicious meals he always made for her. Felassan had been spoiling her almost since the moment they’d met. He’d spoiled her with his patience as he waited for her to come around, and he spoiled her with the calm way he reacted to her temper and her defensiveness. He even spoiled her in the way he touched her so carefully during sex, teasing her and torturing her until she was at her wit’s end in order to make her pleasure that much more potent. Felassan spoiled her every day, and… honestly, she still didn’t exactly understand why. She was a cranky moody mess, and she didn’t deserve his sweetness.

And then there was Nare. Nare, who was patient and empathetic and calm, and who definitely deserved a guy who was just as good as Felassan. Nare, who was instead settling for someone who was literally unable to treat her as well as she deserved to be treated, just by virtue of their respective positions at the university. 

_What a fucking mess,_ she thought. She popped in her earphones and turned on her music, and she brooded silently as she walked to Felassan’s place. The more she thought about Felassan, how good he was to her and how fortunate she was to find him and for him to be interested in _her_ of all people, the more her heart felt like it was aching, and the faster she walked. By the time she was a block away from his apartment, she was almost running. 

She slipped through the front door of his building as someone was coming out, then hurried into the elevator and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive at Felassan’s floor. She jogged down the hall to his apartment and rapped on the door. 

A moment later, he opened the door with a smile. “Did you sneak in? I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

Tamaris didn’t reply. She sidled into his apartment and dropped her bag and shucked off her coat, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

He hugged her back just as tightly. “Well, this is nice,” he murmured. “Hello to you too.”

She buried her face against his neck and breathed in deeply, savouring the sweet and herbal scent of his skin. He was so steadfast and open and affectionate, sexy and clever and funny, and Tamaris couldn’t credit her luck at having landed him. 

_I love you,_ she thought fervently. _I don’t know why you bother with me, but I fucking love you._ If only she had the guts to fucking tell him so. 

She pressed her lips to his neck, then to his jaw. “You spoil me,” she whispered. 

He chuckled and stroked her back. “I’ll keep spoiling you if this is what I get in return.” 

She smiled faintly and tucked her head against his neck, and for a long moment they just stood in the front foyer holding each other close. Felassan’s palm moved in a smooth and hypnotic caress along the length of her back, and Tamaris shamelessly savoured the warmth of his uninhibited embrace.

He slid his hand into her hair and massaged the back of her neck. “What’s wrong, Tamaris?” he whispered. 

She swallowed hard. Felassan was so open and direct with her, and she hated the idea of hiding anything from him. And Nare had said that it was okay for her to tell him…

She leaned away from him and looked him in the eye. “Solas and Nare are sleeping together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen term, from FenxShiral's resources: _felasil'ain_ means 'adorable idiot'. 
> 
> Next up: Solas POV, and boy talk... 👀
> 
> We are [Pikapeppa](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) and [Elbenherz](https://elbenherzart.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr! Neither of us is there much these days, but feel free to reach out if you fancy. xoxo


	45. Thrill

###  SOLAS 

_Nare Sun Oct 11 20:48  
Hey can I call you?_

_Solas 20:48  
Certainly. You don’t need to ask._

_Nare 20:48  
I don’t want to interrupt if you’re busy_

_Solas 20:48  
I was drawing, but I am happy to talk._

_Nare 20:48  
Oh no I didn’t want to disturb your flow! _

_Solas 20:49  
It’s all right, Nare. You are always a welcome disturbance. 🙂 _

_Nare 20:49  
Haha ok if you’re sure!_

************************

He answered his phone on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Nare said.

There was a brief silence. Solas smiled faintly. “Nare?”

She let out a breathless little laugh. “Sorry, I’m here.”

He smiled more widely and leaned his elbow on his drawing table. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “How are you? What are you drawing?”

He glanced at his mostly-finished drawing — the drawing of the two yearning hands that he had started so many weeks ago, and that he’d been working on slowly but steadily ever since. He couldn’t remember the last time it had taken him this long to finish a drawing, but he didn’t mind; he had been otherwise occupied in the most pleasant way, after all.

He brushed his thumb lightly over the female hand’s delicate graphite wrist. “I am working on a special anatomical piece,” he said. 

“An anatomical piece, hm?” she said.

There was a mischievous curl to her voice, and he smirked chidingly. “Not anatomical in that way, Nare.”

She giggled. “If you say so, professor. What makes it special?”

“You’ll see when it’s finished,” he said.

She tutted. “You’re just making me more curious to see it!”

Solas chuckled. “You will need to be patient. I will show you in time.”

“I’m not very good at being patient,” she said.

“I’m well aware,” he said blandly. “You can be a very willful student.”

Nare laughed, and he savoured the warmth in her voice. He rose from his stool and made his way to the living room so he could sit on the couch instead. “What have you been up to this evening?”

“Oh, not much,” she said. “I painted this afternoon for bit, then, um, Tamaris had a client. So I — I went to do some reading for Felassan’s class. I — we’re… the article he assigned this week is the one you mentioned a few weeks ago, about that, um, that mural in Carastes that was incorrectly dated. I really enjoyed it.”

He tilted his head quizzically. She sounded oddly nervous in a way that she hadn’t since they’d begun sleeping together. “I’m glad that you found it illuminating,” he said.

“Yeah, absolutely,” she said. “You went to the Carastes site, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes,” he said. “Both Abelas and I visited the site. It was not for long, however; only three days or so, to document the murals and stelae they were unearthing so we could work on the translations remotely.”

“Wow,” she breathed. “Have you been on a lot of archeological trips?”

“A fair number of them, yes. But the majority of our trips were within Arlathan,” he said. “Carastes was the westernmost site we visited, though arguably the most interesting in terms of the clash between Elvhen and Tevinter cultures.”

Nare hummed an acknowledgement. Feeling a bit bemused now, Solas frowned slightly. “Is this truly what you wanted to discuss?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“I was under the impression that you had a specific reason for calling,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “Um, not — well, I… kind of.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

“Um…” She paused for a second — a second that was heavy with foreboding. “Well, I — I have to tell you something.”

“All right,” he said slowly.

“Um, Tamaris was… she started asking about us today,” Nare said tentatively.

_Fenedhis,_ he thought. This did not bode well. “All right,” he said again.

“I told her,” Nare said baldly. “That we’re sleeping together.”

Solas’s heart stopped, and Nare rushed on. “I — I didn’t plan to tell her or mean to, really, but she was worried that — that you were… she was worried that you were treating me badly, so I—”

“Treating you badly?” he said in horror.

“I told her that wasn’t the case,” Nare said firmly. “I — that’s why I told her about us. I didn’t want her to have the wrong idea. I told her that we’re… I told her that I love you.”

“But not that I love you, as well?” he demanded. If Tamaris thought he was taking advantage of Nare’s feelings… the thought of their precious ties being misconstrued in such a tawdry way— 

“No, of course,” she said hurriedly. “I… I told her that we feel the same way about each other.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I see.”

“Solas, I’m sorry,” she said tensely. “I know I was the one who—”

He shook his head. “Nare…”

She kept talking as though he hadn’t spoken, her voice growing more strained with every word. “I was the one who said we should just keep it secret like we were doing and then I just told her, I-I’m sorry that I–”

“Nare, do not apologize,” he snapped.

She abruptly fell silent, and he instantly felt guilty for his snappishness. In a much gentler tone he said, “Do not apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you,” she retorted.

_That is not at all true,_ he thought, but kept this to himself. He had already had a taste of what would happen if he reminded Nare that any consequences of their liaison were his responsibility. She would get defensive on his behalf, and he would feel guilty for allowing her to put herself in this difficult position, and the bitterness of that guilt and defensiveness would taint the sweetness of what they had. 

A brief silence ensued – a silence that grew increasingly heavy by the second. Solas tried to think of something to say, but he was preoccupied now by ominous thoughts of what it would mean now that Tamaris knew about their liaison. 

“When did this conversation happen?” he asked.

“This afternoon, after she got home from Felassan’s,” Nare said.

_Felassan,_ Solas thought with a fresh pang of dread. “Has she spoken to him since?”

“She’s at his place now.”

Solas exhaled slowly. “Then he knows as well.”

“I… I told her she could tell him,” Nare said in a tiny voice. “I’m sorry—”

“Please, Nare, do not apologize,” he said tiredly. “It would make no difference whether she told him or not; he would know regardless.”

“Why — how do you know that?” she asked.

“He is extremely perceptive,” Solas said. “And Tamaris is… expressive. Even if she had not told him, he would know.”

Nare didn’t reply, and another silence fell between them as he pondered the potential consequences of Tamaris and Felassan knowing about their liaison. He supposed it could be worse; Felassan was the most morally grey of the people working in the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab, and Tamaris had no vested interest in the goings-on at the lab. If anyone they knew could be convinced to keep this quiet, it was Tamaris and Felassan. 

He supposed he could count himself fortunate that, for instance, Abelas didn’t know. If Abelas knew, or any of the other members of the lab, the consequences would be immediate and much worse. Everything Solas had done here in the past five years would be jeopardized — no, not just the past five years, but his entire academic career, really. 

Nare interrupted his thoughts. “Is it so bad that Felassan knows?”

“Pardon?” Solas said distractedly. 

“Tamaris said he won’t tell anyone,” Nare said. “He — like, he wouldn’t tell the university or anything.”

“That is hardly the point,” Solas said.

“What do you mean?” Nare said worriedly.

_Information is power,_ he thought. Without meaning to, Nare had given Tamaris and Felassan a piece of power over Solas and Nare — power that they might never intend to use, but it was power nonetheless. This information was a weapon that could be used against them in even the subtlest of ways: ways that Nare would not be aware of, given her innocence with regards to political matters. 

But Solas was anything but ignorant about the potential politics of their situation. He had been raised under Mythal’s wing, after all: bred into the political world of backstabbing and quid-pro-quo favours and double-speak to keep one’s head above the fray. He had managed to distance himself from it to some degree with his academic work and his art, but that deeply-ingrained training to watch his back and protect his interests had never truly left him. 

Information was power. The more people who knew this information, the more power others had over him and Nare. And Solas hated the idea of anyone using this power against himself and the woman he loved. 

He couldn’t tell Nare any of this, though. It was… it was too heavy. Too cynical and ugly a burden to place on the shoulders of someone who shone so brightly with passion and hope. Solas had already erred enough by permitting their illicit relationship to bloom. The least he owed her was the happiness of being able to enjoy their relationship without the looming specter of his worries to spoil it. 

“I’m thinking cautiously, that’s all,” he said. “Perhaps selfishly, as well. There is a part of me that would have liked to keep you to myself.” 

“You _want_ to keep our relationship a secret?” she said softly.

His heart twisted at the vulnerability in her voice. “You misunderstand me,” he said gently. “It is not that I wish to keep you a secret; rather, I wish that we could remain wrapped in each other without the jarring interference of the outside world — like a treasured dream stretching into the timeless depths of one’s slumbering mind.”

There was a brief pause. Then Nare let out a tremulous sigh. “Sweet talker,” she said.

He smiled into the phone, but his chest was aching. How he wished they were having this conversation face-to-face with Nare curled safely in his arms, rather than through the impersonal medium of the phone.

“I wish that you were here,” he murmured.

“Me too,” she whispered.

She sounded on the verge of tears. Feeling as though his heart was being rent from his chest, he leaned forward on the couch and bowed his head. 

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan,_ ” he said softly. “Do not forget this.”

“I know,” she said. “I love you too.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Another silence spanned the space between them, but the silence was a swollen one, full of tender words that didn’t need to be spoken and wishes for closeness that couldn’t be fulfilled, and with every second that went by, the fullness of this silence seemed to swell and ache inside his chest.

He took a deep breath and tried to recover some of his focus. “In the future, might I suggest that we discuss it first before revealing our ties to anyone else?”

“Of course,” Nare said immediately. “I – Tamaris and I decided already not to tell Athera.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly at this. “And thus we will keep it from Abelas as well.”

“Yeah,” Nare said. “Just like we were doing before. So we’re… we’re going back to normal then, right?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, but not without a private and ominous feeling of dissatisfaction. Returning to their normal state of affairs still meant returning to a state in which he inherently held power over Nare, whether she denied it or not. 

But there was nothing to be done about that now. If the choice was between being with Nare in this stilted manner or not being with her at all, there was no question in Solas’s mind about what he would choose. 

Another brief and wistful silence fell between them, but Solas refused to let it linger painfully this time. “What will you do with the rest of your evening?” he asked.

“Um, I don’t know,” she said. “I could paint some more, I guess. Or maybe I’ll start one of the articles you suggested for me.”

“Those are both excellent ideas,” he said.

“Can we talk for a while longer, though?” Nare asked.

His heart swelled with affection. He was thrilled that she wanted to continue talking; this was what he really wanted, as well. “Certainly,” he said. “What would you like to talk about?”

“Can you tell me about some of your dreams?”

He huffed a little laugh and rubbed his chin. “You are in the mood to exert yourself? Now?”

She laughed. “No, actually. Shocking, I know,” she added drolly. “I just… want to hear your voice.”

His amusement was immediately washed away by a rush of tenderness. It would never cease to amaze him that his feelings for her were so thoroughly reciprocated. 

“All right,” he said. “I would be happy to share more stories with you. Let me try and think of an interesting one.” He tapped his bare foot on the floor for a moment, then leaned back comfortably on the couch. “All right. Once I dreamed of an ancient spirit who had once been undisputed king of almost every land in Thedas. Like pride or rage, this spirit was the Fade’s reflection of a feeling. When I asked which one it was, it faltered. ‘They’ve forgotten’, said the spirit. ‘There remains no word for what I was.’”

For a moment, Nare was silent. “Tell me another,” she said.

Her voice was soft and sweet, and her request was simple and heartfelt. Solas smiled to himself, then told her the tale of another dream: simple stories of mythology and the mind, of the Fade and of himself. For another long and peaceful hour, he spoke to Nare and told her tales of his dreams and his art, and he indulged himself in the fantasy that an artist and a dreamer was all he ever needed to be. 

******************************************

**The next morning…**

“Solas, my dear man, are you even listening to me?”

Solas looked up. “Pardon?”

Dorian _tsk_ ed and folded his arms. “I suppose that answers my question. Should I email you instead? Maybe that would catch your attention.”

Solas removed his reading glasses and gazed at Dorian in mild exasperation. “I told you to email me about this in the first place. It was you who insisted on meeting in my office.”

Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Details. But in all seriousness, you need to consider this. It’s been a year since you last exhibited something, and no pressure, but the fine arts department is starting to worry that perhaps you’re suffering from an art block.”

“You’re the head of the fine arts department,” Solas said flatly.

“Yes,” Dorian said, “and I speak for the entire department when I say that you should reply to the _Musée des beaux-arts_ and allow them to exhibit a piece of your work.” He gave Solas a winning smile. “And that you should collaborate with me on an exhibit of our own.”

Solas sighed. “Dorian, I told you: I haven’t the time to create enough works for an entire exhibit.”

“You always say this,” Dorian complained. “And yet you have the time to nap during our meeting.”

He wilted slightly at this. “I should not have fallen asleep, it’s true,” he admitted. “I apologize.” Solas had slept poorly last night. He awoke at about four in the morning with half-formed anxious dreams about Felassan and Abelas and Dagna telling the University of Arlathan about his relationship with Nare, and his discomfiture wasn’t assuaged by the fact that his dream companions had all been acting oddly casual about the spreading of his and Nare’s secret. 

Dorian’s expression sobered. “In all seriousness, are you all right? Have you been suffering an art block?”

“No,” Solas said.

Dorian raised his eyebrows, and Solas gave him a frank look. “Truly, I haven’t. I have been working on something, but it is a personal project. Not something I am willing to show publicly.”

Dorian relaxed. “Ah. Well, as long as you’re working on something.”

Solas nodded. He gazed at Dorian expectantly, hoping that Dorian would get the hint and leave, but Dorian was studying him thoughtfully.

“You’ve never explained properly why you won’t collaborate with me,” he said finally.

Solas sighed. “Dorian…”

“Is it the Arlathan-Tevinter clash?” Dorian asked. “I had hoped you were above that, you know, particularly as we are such close friends—”

“Are we?” Solas said dryly.

Dorian blithely went on as though Solas hadn’t spoken. “... but it’s that clash that would make a collaboration between us so electric. And so attractive for funding for both of our departments,” he added persuasively.

Solas frowned. “I am not suffering for funding. I’ve told you that before.”

Dorian clicked his tongue. “Don’t be stupid. Every head of department is suffering for funding at all times, even if they just won a grant. That’s the nature of this lovely little microcosm of academia.”

Solas huffed in amusement. Dorian wasn’t wrong, but he also didn’t have the full picture — the full picture being that the University of Orlais’s Ancient Elvhen Studies lab would be shutting down in three years, when he and Abelas completed their contracts and all of their students had completed their degrees.

A little pang of regret prodded his gut at this thought, but he ignored it. “You forget that I’m not the head of department,” he reminded Dorian. “Abelas is.”

“Ah yes, of course,” Dorian said. “Maybe I should petition _him_ to make you collaborate with me by dangling the carrot of funding in front of his eyes.”

Solas gave Dorian a chiding look. “As though strongarming me into a collaboration will set the tone for high-quality artistic work.”

Dorian sighed dramatically. “All right, all right. I see that my charm is getting me nowhere today.” Finally, to Solas’s relief, he stood from his chair. “I won’t give up though, you know. That Avvar exhibit at the _Musée d’art contemporain_ will be closing in the space of a couple of months, and they haven’t yet lined up a new exhibit to put in its place.”

Solas eyed Dorian’s wheedling expression, then sighed. “I will consider it.”

“You say that every time we speak of this,” Dorian pointed out.

“And I mean it less and less every time you nag me,” Solas retorted.

Dorian chuckled and wandered toward the door. “All right, Dread Wolf, no need to bite.”

Solas tutted and replaced his reading glasses. “Don’t call me that.”

Dorian gave him a casual wave as he left the office. Solas exhaled heavily, then clicked his mouse and turned his attention back to the assignment he’d been marking before Dorian’s arrival. 

He continued to doggedly work through the morning despite his fatigue. He managed to get through more than half of his marking for the day when someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” he called.

Abelas opened the door. “You have not checked your email recently,” he said.

“Not in the past thirty minutes, no,” Solas said.

Abelas nodded sharply and folded his arms. “We have a meeting with Dr. de Fer and Morrigan on Friday at two o’clock. I am determined to resolve this paperwork issue by the end of this meeting.”

Solas gave him a cutting look. “Do not tell me you have continued to peruse those defunct policies she found from the archeology department. I won’t hear of it.”

Abelas frowned. “I was about to say that I have put those policies from my mind,” he said stiffly.

Solas blinked, humbled by this. “Ah. I… I apologize. Please, go on.”

Abelas nodded. “I have thought deeply on this, and I feel that the best strategy would be to focus on our agreement with Dr. de Fer and, in essence, to ignore Morrigan completely. I will disregard her barbed comments and her sly insinuations. I refuse to allow her to provoke my temper during this meeting.”

Solas was surprised. This was a pleasant departure from Abelas’s usual dogged determination to one-up Morrigan during their endless aggravating meetings. “I agree,” he said. “Can I ask what inspired this change of heart?”

“It is not a change of heart,” Abelas said. “It is a change of head, so to speak. A more logical approach that will allow _our_ cooler heads to prevail.”

“True,” Solas said. “Still, this is something of an abrupt ‘change of head’ for you.”

Abelas frowned — no, not frowned, but pouted. “I am capable of changing my mind,” he muttered.

“I know you are,” Solas said gently. “But this is something that you have not changed your mind about in all the time we’ve been here.”

Abelas pursed his lips. Before he could reply, Athera appeared at the door. 

“Knock knock,” she said brightly. She smiled up at Abelas, then looked at Solas. “Have you had a chance to look over that grant application I put together last week?

_Fenedhis,_ he thought glumly. “Not yet,” he said. “I… truthfully, I forgot.” He gave Athera an apologetic look. “I am sorry, Athera. I will send it to you with notes by the end of the day.”

“No worries!” she said. “Just remember, the deadline to submit is on Thursday, so I need it back before then.”

“Of course,” Solas said. “Thank you for the reminder. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” she said. She beamed at Abelas and squeezed his arm, then turned away and made her way back to her office at the other end of the lab.

Abelas watched her departure, then turned back to Solas with a tiny smile — a smile that fell away when he met Solas’s eye.

He frowned. “What is it?”

Solas chuckled. He was fairly sure he understood now where Abelas’s newfound sense of cool-headed calm had come from. 

“How was your date yesterday?” he asked.

Abelas hesitated, and to Solas’s surprise, his frown deepened. He closed Solas’s door, then met his eye again. “ _May I speak with you about a personal matter?_ ” he asked in Elvhen.

Solas lifted his eyebrows, but waved for Abelas to approach. “ _Of course. What’s wrong?_ ”

Abelas sat in the chair that Dorian had recently vacated. “ _I have yet to tell Athera that we will ultimately be returning to Arlathan,_ ” he said. “ _She believes we will be residing here and running this program indefinitely._ ” His frown deepened with worry. “ _When we leave, she will lose her job. She is not privy to information that will ultimately affect her fate._ ”

A little wriggle of guilt took root in Solas’s gut — not just because Abelas was correct, but because Abelas was so keen to be honest with Athera. And Solas had made a conscious decision yesterday to conceal his worries from Nare… 

Abelas, meanwhile, was still talking. “ _I know we had agreed to wait until a year before our departure before informing the students. But I do not wish to conceal this information from Athera, particularly since things are going well for us. For — for she and I, I mean._ ”

Solas blinked, distracted from his guilt by Abelas’s words. “ _Have things become serious between you and Athera already?_ ”

“ _It depends on how you define ‘serious’,_ ” Abelas said. “ _We have only been on one date, so we do not fit the criteria of a longevity-based definition. But my intentions are… serious, yes._ ”

Solas stared at him in surprise, and Abelas frowned. “ _You believe my intentions to be premature._ ”

“ _No, not at all,_ ” Solas said hastily. “ _I — I am simply pleased for you. I have not seen you this confident about any relationship before._ ”

“ _I have never been this confident about a relationship before,_ ” Abelas said.

“ _That’s… I’m pleased for you,_ ” Solas said dumbly. He knew he was repeating himself, but truthfully, he was reeling a bit — both with surprise about Abelas’s candidness, and with envy: envy similar to what Nare had mentioned feeling on the weekend. That Abelas could tell Solas so openly about how he felt for Athera? How freeing must that feel?

Abelas smiled faintly. “ _Thank you. What are your thoughts on my dilemma, then?_ ”

“ _There is no dilemma, as I see it,_ ” Solas said. “ _You should tell her._ ”

“ _And what if…_ ” Abelas trailed off, and his frown deepened.

Solas gazed kindly at him. “ _You are worried she will be angry when you tell her?_ ”

“ _Not just that,_ ” he said quietly. “ _I am concerned that she will have a change of heart about me._ ”

Solas smiled softly. “ _From what I have seen, I think that’s unlikely. For what that is worth._ ”

Abelas relaxed. “ _That is a comfort. Thank you._ ”

Solas nodded and leaned back in his chair. “ _If you want to inform Athera soon, I suppose we should schedule a time to meet with the whole lab to discuss this._ ”

“ _Why?_ ” Abelas asked.

Solas raised his eyebrows in confusion. “ _To inform the students of our plans._ ”

Abelas frowned, also apparently confused. “ _We can inform them on the timeline that we had previously decided._ ”

Bemused, Solas stared at him. “ _So you want to inform Athera immediately, but not the rest of the lab?_ ”

“ _It will not affect the rest of the lab directly,_ ” Abelas said. “ _They will all be finished their degrees by then. Athera is the only one who will be impacted directly by our departure._ ”

Solas pulled a face. “ _I doubt that Merrill, Tamlen and Dagna will see it that way._ ”

“ _So you are of the sentiment that we should tell them all right away?_ ” Abelas asked.

“ _It seems most fair, doesn’t it?_ ” Solas pointed out.

“ _It would be the most egalitarian, yes,_ ” Abelas said. “ _But you were the one who wanted to delay telling them until our departure was more imminent._ ”

“ _I know,_ ” Solas said ruefully.

Abelase eyed him curiously for a moment before speaking again. “ _Why did you want to delay informing them? You never did explain this to me in full._ ”

He sighed. In truth, the reason for the delay was purely selfish. Solas was worried that if the students had advance notice about their plans to leave Orlais, they would convince him to stay.

He gave Abelas a thoughtful look. “ _Do you ever consider staying here?_ ”

Abelas’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“ _It never crosses your mind for us to stay in Orlais?_ ” Solas asked. “ _To continue running this lab as we have done?_ ”

Abelas’s expression became grave. “ _We gave our word to Mythal. We must fulfill the duty she gave us._ ”

“ _Is that what you want to do?_ ” Solas asked.

Abelas narrowed his eyes. “ _I cannot tell whether these are your words or Felassan’s._ ”

Solas tilted his head chidingly. “ _I am asking you now, not Felassan. Given a choice, what do you want to do?_ ”

Abelas frowned, but his frown was pensive rather than angry. “ _This country is not my home. You know my feelings on this._ ”

Solas nodded. He knew that Abelas had never quite adjusted to living here, and that this was something that was unlikely to ever change. Abelas’s homesickness was understandable; if Solas had a large family to return to back in Arlathan, perhaps he would be more homesick as well. As it was, however, the only people he considered as family happened to be here in Orlais: Felassan, Abelas, and… and now, Nare.

His heart twisted at the thought of her warm and loving smile. He forced himself to focus on his conversation with Abelas. “ _And our work here?_ ” he said. “ _You have no interest in continuing it?_ ”

“ _We will have more work upon our return to Orlais,_ ” Abelas said. He gave Solas a pointed look. “ _Work on the Vir’Abelasan when it is finally ours._ ”

“ _We could do that work here,_ ” Solas pointed out.

“ _Not once we have secured the Vir’Abelasan exclusively for the University of Arlathan,_ ” Abelas retorted.

Solas rubbed his chin and didn’t reply. Abelas’s face went slack with surprise, then creased with anger. “ _Do not tell me you are considering an academic collaboration with the University of Orlais._ ”

“ _Not seriously, no,_ ” Solas said slowly.

“ _But you are considering it in some way,_ ” Abelas said accusingly.

Solas gave him a knowing look. “ _Do you truly believe we have met no colleagues of value during our time here?_ ”

“ _If our choices for collaborators include the likes of Morrigan, then no,_ ” Abelas said sharply.

“ _I am not talking about Morrigan,_ ” Solas said. “ _I am talking about Merrill and Dagna. And Tamlen._ ” He raised his eyebrows. “ _And Athera._ ”

Abelas pursed his lips and looked away. Then he gave Solas a hard look. “ _You never told me you were seriously considering this._ ”

“ _I never told you, no,_ ” Solas said carefully.

Abelas’s expression blanked with surprise once more. “ _So you have been thinking of this without informing me?_ ”

Solas sighed and ran a hand over his scalp. “ _You never wanted to hear it._ ”

“ _What makes you think I want to hear it now?_ ” Abelas demanded.

“ _I know you don’t want to hear it,_ ” Solas said. “ _But it is for your own good to consider these questions._ ”

“ _How is this to my benefit?_ ” Abelas said sharply.

“ _Because Athera will ask you these questions when she learns of our plans,_ ” Solas said gently. “ _You know she will._ ”

Abelas stared at him for a moment. Then he sighed and ran his palm over his hair. “ _Fenedhis lasa._ ”

“Yes, quite,” Solas said in the common tongue.

Abelas scowled at him, then dropped his gaze to his lap, and Solas waited patiently while he gathered his thoughts.

He looked up from his lap. “I want to write,” he said suddenly.

Solas binked. “Sorry?”

“You asked what I want to do, if I were given a choice,” Abelas said. “I want… more time to write.”

Solas stared at him in genuine surprise. “You haven’t wanted to write for years.”

“I have wanted to,” Abelas said. “But I have not had the time or creative energy with all my administrative duties.”

A pang of guilt twisted in Solas’s gut. “You never mentioned that you wanted time to write.”

“I never _mentioned_ it, no,” Abelas said, slightly pointedly.

Solas gazed at him with a combination of guilt and annoyance. “You should have told me.”

“We agreed to our roles when we started working here,” Abelas said.

“That agreement wasn’t set in stone,” Solas said in exasperation. “This is not the army, Abelas. You and I do not have ordered ranks. If you’re unhappy in your role, we should reconsider our division of labour.”

Abelas raised his eyebrows in surprise, and Solas’s sense of guilt deepened. He knew that Abelas had always seen him as a mentor and a leader, despite only being two years younger, and he knew how rigidly Abelas could adhere to the idea of institutional ranks and roles. He should have realized that Abelas would not necessarily express his displeasure about their work arrangements for fear of sounding like an insubordinate.

Solas sighed and gave him an earnest look. “Please, Abelas. I am asking you to tell me if you want to reconsider our division of labour.”

Abelas’s expression softened slightly. “Yes. I would appreciate the chance to revisit our duties.”

“All right,” Solas said. “Let’s discuss it later this week, then.”

Abelas nodded, and the corners of his lips curled in a hint of a smile. Then he frowned once more. “I still do not want to supervise students, however.” 

Solas laughed. “You can’t have it both ways, my friend.”

Abelas smiled faintly, then straightened in his seat. “Thank you for speaking with me. But for now, let us return to our duties.” Then he switched back to Elvhen. “ _We will schedule a time to inform the lab of our plans to return to Arlathan, then?_ ”

Solas raised his eyebrows. He was somewhat thrown off by this, given the slant of the conversation they’d just been having. “Er, y-yes. I… yes.”

Abelas nodded and stood. “I will ask Athera to find a time for next week when all of our schedules converge.”

“All right,” Solas said, a little reluctantly.

Abelas moved toward the door, but Solas called out to him before he could leave. “Abelas, if I can ask a favour.”

“Of course,” Abelas said.

Solas spoke in Elvhen. “ _Imagine a scenario for me — one in which we remained in Orlais._ ”

Abelas frowned. “ _To what end?_ ”

“ _Humour me,_ ” Solas said. “ _If you were to imagine such a scenario, I want to know what it would ideally look like to you._ ”

Abelas gave him an exasperated look. “ _Do you need me to imagine this right now? Because the only thing I can imagine at this moment is that Athera would be with us._ ”

_That is sweet_ , Solas thought fondly. “You don’t need to do it now,” he said in the common tongue. “But I want to know what would be necessary for such a scenario to be palatable to you.”

Abelas pursed his lips, then gave Solas a flat look. “Fine. Are we finished?”

Solas smiled faintly at his irritation. “Yes, we’re finished.”

Abelas nodded, then left his office. Solas sighed and leaned back in his chair, and his stomach grumbled. 

He glanced at his phone and sighed. It was lunchtime already, and he hadn’t finished his marking like he had hoped to do. 

He wearily rose from his chair, then went to get some lunch. Hopefully his afternoon would be more productive and less emotionally taxing.

**********************************

Late that afternoon, after everyone else had left for the day, Solas was sitting alone in his office and trying in vain to focus on Athera’s grant application when someone knocked on his door. 

Immediately after the knock, the door opened, and Felassan sauntered in. “I brought you a latte,” he said. 

Solas’s heart thumped with nerves. He had been both anticipating and dreading an unannounced visit from Felassan all day. 

He forced himself not to show his discomfiture and lifted one eyebrow. “You know I don’t drink coffee in the afternoon.”

Felassan scoffed. “A latte hardly counts as coffee. Besides, I thought you might need it.”

_What does that mean?_ Solas thought. Was Felassan referring innocuously to the late-afternoon time of day, or had he guessed — correctly — that Solas had slept poorly last night, knowing that Felassan knew his secret?

Felassan raised his eyebrows and held out the coffee. Solas eyed him for a moment, then finally accepted the coffee, albeit a little grudgingly. 

“Thank you,” he said, and he took a sip. 

Felassan nodded, then plopped down on Solas’s couch with his legs spread comfortably wide. He sipped his own coffee and didn’t speak, and Solas studied his pleasant expression with a bit of resentment.

Felassan smacked his lips, then wrinkled his nose. “They didn’t add enough sugar. For shame.”

Solas ignored his idle remark. “What brings you here?” he asked.

Felassan shrugged. “I just thought we could catch up.”

“I see,” Solas said.

Felassan sipped his coffee again, then glanced at the closed door. “Abelas has already left for the day, hm? That’s a small miracle.”

_And so it begins,_ Solas thought ruefully. This was Felassan’s way of pointing out that they were alone in the office. 

“He has been leaving earlier as of late,” he said. “I think this is the earliest yet.” He checked his watch; indeed, it was only 16:48.

“Good for him,” Felassan said. “Not hard to know whose influence that is.”

Solas smiled as he remembered Athera gazing adoringly at Abelas. “It’s possible that she has been cajoling him to leave at the same time as her.”

Felassan grinned and shook his head admiringly. “She’s achieved things in the space of weeks that we’ve failed at for years. I’d be offended if I wasn’t so pleased for him.”

Solas chuckled. “It’s hard to be resentful when he is this happy, yes.”

Felassan smirked and sipped his coffee again, and Solas took a sip of his coffee as well. Then Felassan lowered his cup and lifted his eyebrows expectantly. 

Solas steadily returned his gaze. For a pregnant moment, neither of them spoke. 

Felassan smiled. “Why the gwent face, Solas?”

Solas understood the implication here as well: that he was maintaining a neutral façade in order to not give anything away. Meaning, of course, that Felassan knew he had something to give away.

_Enough of this,_ Solas thought. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I’m aware that you know,” he said bluntly.

Felassan’s eyebrows rose slightly. “And here I thought I’d have to heimlich it out of you.”

“That would be a waste of energy that I don’t have at the moment,” Solas said, a bit sharply.

Felassan’s expression softened. “Drink your coffee. It’ll help with that.”

Solas shot him a resentful look, then sipped his coffee. Another brief silence ensued — a silence during which Felassan surveyed him with an annoyingly calm expression that made his jaw clench.

“Why have you come here?” Solas asked.

Felassan shrugged. “I thought you might want to talk.”

“To talk?” Solas said skeptically. 

“Yes, to talk,” Felassan said. “You know, when two people flap their tongues and exchange thoughts?”

Solas shot him a deeply unamused look. Felassan smirked, then chuckled and shook his head. “I feel a bit silly that I didn’t realize it earlier,” he said. “Fenor was very friendly with her on Saturday.”

Solas raised his eyebrows. “Fenor?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. “I thought it odd that Fenor treated her like a familiar person. It makes so much sense now.” He snickered. “I do love the idea that you and Nare could have been rumbled by a cat.”

Solas tensed. Hearing Felassan say Nare’s name gave him an uncomfortably restless feeling, like Felassan was trying to edge into territory that didn’t belong to him. 

He stood up and rested his palms on the desk. “If you are seeking further information to store away for later, you will not be receiving any.”

Felassan’s smile faded. “We’re not in Arlathan, Solas.”

“I know where we are,” Solas said coldly. 

“Do you?” Felassan said mildly. “Because you’re acting like we’re in Arlathan.”

“You are prodding into matters that don’t concern you,” Solas said.

“And _you’re_ talking to me like I’m a sleazy double-agent looking to exploit you,” Felassan retorted.

“Aren’t you?” Solas snapped without thinking. 

A flash of hurt crossed Felassan’s face. “I dearly hope that you’re fucking joking.”

For a split second, a rush of genuine remorse stole Solas’s breath. He sat in his chair and slowly exhaled. “I… I didn’t mean that. _Del’dirthem,_ Felassan.”

Felassan stared at him for a moment, then shrugged and lifted his cup to his mouth. “ _Lanastem_ ,” he said, and he sipped his coffee.

For another tense moment, neither of them spoke, and neither of them looked at each other. Then Felassan broke the brittle silence. “I imagine it’s been hard for you,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

Solas finally looked at him. His expression was mostly neutral, but his violet-eyed gaze was steady and calm.

A sudden ache bloomed behind Solas’s sternum, and he swallowed hard. “I did not intend this to happen.”

“I know,” Felassan said simply.

They were quiet again for a moment. Once again, Felassan broke the silence. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Solas said, very quietly.

Felassan nodded slowly. Then he slung his legs up on the couch and placed his coffee on the floor. “You know, I was thinking recently about a story of Fen’Harel. One of the more modern ones where Fen’Harel is more of a sexy shape-changer than a rebellious wolf-god.”

Solas gave him an exasperated look. “A tale of Fen’Harel? Really?”

“Oh yes indeed,” Felassan said cheerfully. “The story I was thinking of was the one where Fen’Harel falls in love with a daring young maiden in a village in the north, where Fen’Harel is known only as the vicious and dangerous Dread Wolf. You remember the one, I’m sure.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. 

Solas sighed, then waved his hand somewhat bad-temperedly for Felassan to go on. 

Felassan grinned, then comfortably folded his arms behind his head. “Fen’Harel fell hard for this bold and daring maiden, but he was afraid she would not accept him in the form of a simple elvhen man. And so he went to her as the wild and fiery Dread Wolf of yore and swept her off her feet. She fell passionately in love with him, but he was forced to always remain in the shape of a wolf, afraid that she would not want him if he was a simple elf.” Felassan tilted his head thoughtfully. “As the weeks and months went on, however, he began to resent always being a wolf. So one day, he came to her as a man to see if she would recognize him and love him anyway.” He waved his hand in a casual gesture. “The maiden smiled kindly and greeted him politely, but her gaze held no passion or recognition or love, and Fen’Harel was devastated to think she wouldn’t want him as he truly was.” His expression grew serious. “And so he fled and left the maiden alone and bereft, preferring the safe memory of her passion for the Dread Wolf over the risky possibility of her rejection when he was just a man.”

Solas took a deep breath to calm his simmering temper. “There has been no deception,” he said evenly. “She has always known exactly who I am.”

“Fen’Harel didn’t deceive the maiden, either,” Felassan said. “He showed her who he really was. He truly was a wolf, after all, and a ferocious one at that when the moment called for such ferocity.” He cocked his head. “What I find interesting about that story is the focus on the maiden’s passion. On the passion that Fen’Harel could elicit from her as the big bad Dread Wolf. When that naughty thrill of passion was gone, there seemed to be nothing between them.”

Solas stared flatly at him. He understood now what Felassan was suggesting: that what he and Nare shared was an infatuation premised on the illicit thrill of a forbidden liaison, not real love.

“I see,” he said coolly. 

Felassan’s expression softened slightly. “I thought I was in love with you, once.”

Solas raised an eyebrow, unsure where he was going with this. “I’m aware,” he said carefully.

Felassan smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not jealous of Nare. I’m in love with Tamaris, actually.”

“Oh,” Solas said blankly. “I’m happy for you.” 

“Thank you,” Felassan said graciously. “The reason I mention this is that I know the difference now. I loved you like a man loves a brilliant, charismatic hero. I love Tamaris like…” He paused, then smiled: a tender, secretive little smile that made Solas’s chest ache. “Like a man loves the other half of his soul.”

_That is how I love Nare,_ Solas thought mulishly. But he didn’t say this to Felassan. He was loath to give Felassan any more validation.

He continued to eye Felassan in silence. Then Felassan grinned. “You’re pissed with me.”

“I would be lying if I said you are my favourite person right now,” Solas said baldly.

Felassan laughed. “Fair enough. Listen, I’m not denying how you feel about Nare. I am simply pointing out what you already know: that the thrill of the forbidden could be playing a role in how you feel.”

“Fine,” Solas said shortly. “I acknowledge your lecture on Arlathani mythology. Are you finished?”

“Almost,” Felassan said. “I have one last comment.”

Solas lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “It seems that I can’t stop you from making it.”

“I’m rooting for you both,” Felassan said.

Solas shot him a deeply skeptical look, and he smiled. “No, really. I like Nare. She’s a sharp one. I hope you’ll be happy together.”

“But you think it unlikely,” Solas said.

Felassan _tsk_ ed. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I have enough words of my own without your help.”

“That is the truth,” Solas said waspishly.

Felassan snickered, then sobered once more. “You know as well as I do that this can’t last forever as it is. But for what it’s worth — and I would hope this goes without saying — I won’t speak of this to anyone but Tamaris.”

Solas relaxed very slightly. “I appreciate that.”

Felassan nodded. His expression was pleasant and neutral, and he was idly waving his Converse-shod foot as though to a song that only he could hear, and Solas was suddenly seized by the odd sensation of the tables being turned somehow. He had known and mentored Felassan for so many years that it was difficult for him to see Felassan as a person who didn’t require his advice — or, more oddly still, as someone who might be in a position of providing advice to _him._

The odd sense of vertigo was disconcerting. To try and rebalance it, Solas changed the subject. “So. You are in love with Tamaris.”

“I certainly am,” Felassan said with a smile. “But don’t say anything; I haven’t told her yet.”

“You haven’t? Why not?”

“I’m waiting for her to say it first.”

Solas gave him a chiding look. “That sounds rather juvenile.”

Felassan chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t know Tamaris. Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“If you say so,” Solas said.

Felassan smiled at him, then lifted one eyebrow. “I do love you, by the way. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings before by suggesting otherwise.”

Solas huffed. “You didn’t hurt my feelings. And…” He sighed, then gave Felassan an exasperated look. “I love you as well, _isa’ma’lin_.”

Felassan grinned, then sat up and jovially slapped his knees. “Well, now that I’m back in your good graces, let’s go get dinner.”

“It is barely past five,” Solas pointed out.

“Time means nothing to the whims of my stomach,” Felassan announced. “Come on, I’ll buy.”

Solas eyed him shrewdly for a moment, then shrugged and stood. “Fine, since you offered.”

“That’s the spirit,” Felassan said brightly. He rose from the couch and sauntered toward the door, and Solas gathered his coat and messenger bag and his mostly-cooled coffee. 

As they left the lab, Felassan chatted casually about his current job designing aliens for a semi-documentary about hypothetical life on far-flung planets, and Solas listened with half an ear while he considered Felassan’s galling suggestion that his relationship with Nare was little more than lust-fuelled infatuation. 

If Solas was completely and rationally honest, he could admit that Felassan’s suggestion was not entirely off-base. There was a reason that forbidden romance stories were so popular, after all, and that reason was how thrillingly titillating they were. But Solas also knew in the core of his soul that he and Nare were more than a tawdry penny-dreadful romance. 

Unfortunately, the only way Solas could prove Felassan wrong was by making his relationship with Nare publicly known, and that was something they just couldn’t do — not while she was still a student in one of his classes. 

A cold stone of dread dropped into his stomach. _We will have to continue this way at least until the end of term,_ he realized. If Nare was to receive credit for his class, they would need to maintain the fiction that they had not gotten involved until _after_ she had completed his class.

If Nare was to receive credit for Solas’s class, they would need to keep their relationship a secret for almost two more months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen terms, compiled from FenxShiral’s excellent resources:
> 
> \- _Del’dirthem_ : I misspoke. A formal apology for when someone says something unkind.  
> \- _Lanastem_ : you are forgiven.  
> \- _Isa’ma’lin_ : brother.
> 
> Next up: I think it will be Nare POV, including some smuuuuut!


	46. Nicely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long!! The chapter got SUPER long (like 14k words long) and it wasn't until I finished writing it that I realized I could easily cut it in two. OOPS. 😂 So today you get a short bit of NSFW Nare POV, and either tomorrow or Tuesday, some longer NSFW Solas POV.

###  NARE 

Nare was in her home studio trying to do some loose sketching of faces when her phone chimed with a text.

_Solas Mon Oct 12 9:13 p.m.  
May I bother you with a phone call? I won’t keep you for too long._

As soon as she saw Solas’s name on her phone, her shoulders relaxed. She hadn’t heard from him all day, and this was somewhat unusual. It had been weeks since she’d gone for a whole day without receiving a text from him at some point. Usually she would have assumed he was just busy, but given the… current circumstances, she’d been starting to worry.

Worry about what exactly, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like she thought Solas was going to change his mind about their relationship, given everything that had bloomed between them over the weekend. But she still felt edgy somehow, like she was in need of his reassurance even though he’d provided it in spades. 

_Maybe I am pathetic,_ she thought half-jokingly. Not that that was going to stop her from texting him back.

_Nare 9:13 p.m.  
Of course! It’s never a bother from you!_

_Solas 9:13 p.m.  
All right. Just a minute._

Nare hurried to her bedroom for privacy and closed the door. A moment later, her phone rang.

She answered immediately. “Hey,” she said quietly. 

“Hello,” he said. “How are you?”

He sounded fatigued. Her heart swelled with sympathy at the slightly-rough sound of his voice. “I’m fine,” she said. “ _You_ sound like you had long day.”

He huffed. “How could you tell?”

“You sound tired,” she said. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m all right,” he assured her. “But I only got home about fifteen minutes ago.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why so late?”

“I went for dinner with Felassan,” he said. “Then I had to return to the office to finish something up.”

A little fish-leap of nerves squiggled in her belly. “You had dinner with Felassan?”

“Yes.”

“Did you…?” She faltered. She wanted to ask if they’d talked about her and Solas’s relationship, but she wasn’t sure if that would be too nosy to ask.

Naturally, Solas knew what she was thinking. “We did speak briefly about our situation, but not while at dinner. And you can rest easy,” he added gently. “It is as Tamaris told you: he has no plans to tell anyone.”

Nare exhaled slowly. “Okay. So everything’s really back to usual, then.”

“Yes,” confirmed. “As usual as it has ever been, in any case.”

She smiled faintly at his wry tone. “I guess our usual has always been kind of unusual.”

“Exceedingly unusual, even,” he murmured. “But I am not complaining.”

“Me neither,” Nare said softly. 

He hummed in amusement. It was a soft and sleepy sound, and Nare smiled wistfully. She’d never really heard him sounding this sleepy before. She wondered if this was what he’d sound like if they fell asleep together. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, gradually, she heard the slow tidal sound of his breathing.

An aching sort of tenderness bloomed in her chest. “Solas?” she said softly. 

He inhaled sharply, then sighed. “Ah. I — forgive me, I… I think I dozed off.”

She chuckled. “You definitely did.”

He sighed again. “I am so sorry. I slept poorly last night, I’m afraid.”

Her amusement faded into worry. “Why? Because of… because of us?”

“Because of our circumstances,” he said firmly. “Not because of you.”

She wasn’t totally reassured by this, truth be told. Feeling a little self-conscious now, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well… you should catch up on your sleep. Your hibernation, I mean,” she added with a tiny smile. 

He huffed lazily. “I will, soon. I simply wanted to hear your voice before I sleep.”

For the first time all day, Nare felt herself really relaxing. “Sweet talker,” she said playfully.

“I beg to differ,” he said. “ _You_ are the one with the sweet voice.” He chuckled softly. “Perhaps I should ask you to tell _me_ some stories for a change.”

Nare laughed. “What? No, I – I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” he asked.

“I don’t have any interesting stories,” she said.

“I don’t believe that,” Solas said firmly. 

Nare hummed and lay back on her bed. “Well, I don’t have detailed dreams like you do.”

“Your stories need not be borne from sleep,” Solas said. “I would enjoy hearing anything about you.”

She smiled giddily. She felt the same way about him. “Okay, well, maybe you should get cozy in bed and I’ll tell you a story or two,” she said coyly.

He huffed. “I sense that ‘cozy’ means something specific to you.”

Nare grinned. “Maybe I’m hoping to make you exert yourself.”

Solas chuckled. “I am already tired enough without exerting myself any further.” 

“We’ll see about that,” she retorted cheekily.

Solas laughed again. “All right. Give me a moment while I brush my teeth and change.”

“Okay,” Nare said. 

There was a soft clattering sound as he put the phone down – probably on his bedside table. A minute later, she distantly heard the toilet flushing and the faucet running. 

She curled up on her side, feeling a little melancholy about those background sounds. They weren’t anything special, just the mundane sounds of Solas washing up before bed, but Nare felt wistful all the same, wishing she could be there in his apartment to witness those precious before-bed moments. 

A few minutes later, there was a rustling sound like Solas was getting into bed. Then his voice returned to her ear. “Nare? Are you still there?”

“When can we see each other again?” she asked. Maybe she sounded overeager, but she didn’t care. She missed him, and she wanted him to know it.

His reply was gentle but playful. “We will see each other tomorrow at seminar. Or have you forgotten?”

Nare laughed. “It’s been almost two months! I don’t forget about seminar anymore.”

Solas chuckled, and Nare rolled onto her back once more. “Can we meet in your office tomorrow after seminar?” she asked.

“Do you have an academic matter that you need to discuss in detail?” he asked.

“Of course,” Nare said, very innocently. 

“Hm,” Solas said. “Well, I don’t see why not. I will block off some time for you at four o’clock, then.”

Nare grinned at his deadpan tone. “Thank you, professor.”

He huffed in amusement. “You are very welcome. In any case, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, I am in bed.”

“Yum,” Nare said.

Solas let out an adorable snort of laughter, and Nare laughed as well. “I’m sorry, I know I’m terrible,” she said. “I just… wish I was there with you.”

“As do I,” Solas said softly. 

Nare smiled helplessly, torn between giddiness and an aching sort of longing. “What are you wearing?” she asked.

Solas chuckled. “Is that a serious question?”

“A very serious question, professor,” Nare said.

Solas huffed. “I am wearing pyjama pants.”

Nare perked up. “Just pants?” 

“Yes, Nare,” he said wryly. “Just pyjama pants.”

She hummed softly. “That’s nice.”

“Is it?” Solas asked.

“Mhmm,” she said coyly.

“Why?” he said.

“Why what?” 

“Why is it nice?”

A bloom of excitement flickered to life deep in her belly. His tone was mild-mannered and curious, the sort of tone he might use if he was asking her what she liked about a painting at a museum — a rather professional tone, really, if not for the intimate softness of his voice. 

He spoke again, still in that curious but gentle tone. “Why is it nice, Nare?”

She nibbled the inside of her cheek, feeling both excited and a little nervous. His gentle prompt reminded her of the way he spoke to her when he was teaching her carnal lessons. But instead of giving commands like he usually did, he was asking her a question — no, not just a question, but a specific kind of question that required a specific kind of answer.

 _Dirty talk._ Another pulse of excitement flickered through her abdomen. In his calm and understated way, Solas was asking her to talk dirty to him, and… gods, she _really_ wanted to do this for him. Especially with how frequently and how well he did the same for her. 

She took a deep breath, feeling a little bit shy for some odd reason. It wasn’t like she had never said dirty things to him before, after all. But when she usually said filthy things to Solas, it was in the heat of the moment, when she was so turned on and desperate that she would say anything to persuade him to bring her to ecstasy. 

Now, however, her lust was a gentler and slower sort of boil than her usual mindless desperation, and the distance between them was like a constant low-level ache in her chest that tinted her desire for Solas with a complex sort of bitterness. She wanted him — gods, did she ever _want_ him. But tonight, her ever-present lust was layered with the sheer simple desire to be next to him. To be touching him and hugging him and to be held by him, even if it wasn’t sexual at all. 

Tonight, Nare’s lust for Solas felt so close to love that she wasn’t sure she could separate the two. 

“Nare?” he whispered.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, then curled up on her side with her phone under her cheek. “It’s nice because… you’re like those Tevinter statues,” she said. “You know the marble ones from the Exalted Age that are mostly nude, but with the really beautifully sculpted robes and drapes of cloth?”

“Yes,” he said. “Interestingly, that technique of sculpture was Elvhen. It was adopted by the Tevinters during the invasions.”

Nare smiled. Of course that’s what he would point out, even while their talk was getting heated. “The reason I brought it up is that you’re just as beautiful as those statues.”

“Now you are simply exaggerating,” Solas said dryly.

“I’m not,” she insisted. “When you walk around your apartment wearing just those comfy linen pants – you know the beige drawstring ones you have that get rumpled easily?”

“I know the ones,” he said.

“Those are my favourite,” she said. “They cover your legs without really covering anything.”

Solas huffed in amusement. “What do you mean by that?”

She licked her lips nervously, then took a deep breath and took the plunge. “I like looking at your cock in those pants when you walk around the apartment.”

For the duration of a heartbeat, he was silent. “Interesting,” he said.

His voice was softer now, and very slightly husky. Encouraged and excited, Nare went on. “I like… I like just watching you walk around half-naked. You’re like a wolf wandering around his territory.”

“If I am a wolf, what does that make you?” he asked.

“I’m your she-wolf, of course,” she said. “Or maybe your prey.”

“Those are quite different, Nare,” he said. “I need you to tell me what you are. Are you my she-wolf, or are you my prey?”

His voice was deliciously matter-of-fact and deliciously soft, and another pulse of lust bloomed between her legs. His tone was dripping with control, and somehow, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, his control made her feel more confident and bold. 

“That depends,” she said.

“On what?”

“If you’re going to eat me.”

He exhaled slowly. “ _Veraisa._ ”

Nare smiled. She loved when he called her that. 

She lowered her voice to an intimate murmur. “Are you hard?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Really hard?” 

“I am getting there.”

“Will you stroke your cock for me?”

Another slightly shaky sigh breezed into her ear. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Thank you, professor,” she said sweetly.

He groaned, then: a soft, brief little groan, but it was enough to make Nare lightheaded for a moment.

She shifted restlessly — damn it, her panties were getting damp — then spoke softly into the phone once more. “Can you imagine… imagine me kneeling between your legs while you stroke your cock?”

“Yes, I can,” he said.

His voice was slightly strained now. Nare closed her eyes and imagined a beautiful scenario: Solas lying back on his bed, his elegant fingers wrapped around his perfect hard cock, his neck muscles straining as he stroked himself and spoke to her at the same time… 

The perfect image prompted more filthy words to fall from her lips. “I want to watch you, professor,” she said huskily. “I want to see you stroking your cock until… until you’re leaking a little bit for me.” She paused then, feeling a bit awkward. ‘Leaking’? Was that even a sexy word to use? She didn’t want to say ‘pre-cum’ because that definitely didn’t sound sexy. 

It seemed like she didn’t have to worry, though; Solas’s breathing was louder and slightly erratic, and his tone was a little more urgent when he spoke. “And then what, Nare? When the evidence of my desire for you is visible at the tip of my cock, what will you do?”

Nare dragged in a tremulous breath. How was he so good at making something so base sound so beautiful? “I’ll lick it off,” she said. “I want to taste you.”

“I want you to taste me,” he panted.

“I’ll taste all of you,” she said eagerly. “I’ll take your whole cock in my throat, so deep I can’t breathe.”

He groaned, and Nare arched her spine instinctively at the sound. “I’ll suck on you slowly until you put your hand in my hair to show me how you want me,” she told him. “I like it when you guide me, professor. I want you to teach me how to make you come.”

“Y-yes…” he moaned.

“I love it when you teach me,” she said. “I want to learn how to suck you perfectly and how to hold your balls just the way you like.”

He groaned again. Layered beneath the sound of his voice, Nare could hear another sound: a soft rhythmic thump of flesh-on-flesh — the sound of Solas stroking himself. The perfect, tempting, torturous sound of his hand pumping along the length of his cock.

Desperate now to please him, Nare spoke more urgently and quietly into the phone. “I want to fuck you just the way you like, professor. I want to — to get on top of you and — can you teach me?” she begged. “Teach me to fuck you on top just the way you like?”

“I will teach you to fuck me just the way _you_ like,” he retorted.

Oh gods, his voice: it was rough and guttural and perfectly feral, and it sent a fresh ripple of desire through her body, from her belly spanning all the way out to her fingers and her toes. 

“Will you teach me how to come on your cock?” she pleaded.

“Yes,” he groaned. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Please, professor,” she whimpered. “Teach me how to come on top of you. Teach me to fuck you nicely so you can fill me up with your come.”

He gasped, and the rhythmic stroking sound grew more rapid. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I will.”

Feeling wild and desperate now, Nare rolled onto her back and arched her spine. “Professor,” she gasped, “after you come inside me and I’m so full of your come that I can’t take any more, I’ll — can I slide off of you, and then I’ll drip your come all over your belly so you can see just how much you filled me up?”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” he moaned. “N-Nare — ah!” He groaned, a long loud groan of completion that was so familiar and so fucking dear to her that she felt his satisfaction like a thrill in her own blood.

She closed her eyes and listened rapturously to the sound of his climax. When his heavy breathing evened out, she spoke in a quiet voice. “Did I talk nicely, professor?”

He chuckled. “Yes, Nare. You spoke very nicely.”

His voice was lazy with pleasure. Nare grinned giddily and shifted onto her side once more. She was uncomfortably wet, so much so that she could feel her own arousal on the insides of her thighs beyond the boundaries of her panties, but she didn’t care. 

Then Solas spoke in a gentler tone. “You didn’t touch yourself.”

He was right; Nare hadn’t touched herself. In truth, she’d been too invested in listening to him to touch herself, but she didn’t tell him that. 

Instead, she smiled coyly. “You didn’t say I could, professor.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, then he sighed. “I can’t decide whether that makes you a vixen or a very good girl.”

Nare giggled. A brief lull of quiet fell between them once more, and as the lull stretched on, Nare’s wistful sense of yearning began to bleed back into her satisfied mood.

“Solas,” she said softly, “when can we see each other again?”

He exhaled slowly. “We will see each other tomorrow…” 

“You know what I mean,” she said in a tiny voice.

“Believe me, I do,” he said, very gently. “But I’m not sure.”

Nare frowned slightly, unsatisfied with his response. With the stress of sorting things out with Tamaris and Felassan, not to mention how horny she was and how badly she wanted to wrap herself in his arms, the urge to be with him was almost more than she could stand. 

“What about Wednesday during the day?” she suggested. “We can sneak to your place again?”

“That may work, yes,” he said. “But…” He trailed off.

“But what?” she whispered, worried. Didn’t he want to be with her too? Was he trying to avoid her after all?

“Such brief moments feel… insufficient,” he murmured.

She relaxed, relieved by his response. “I know,” she said. “I hate it too.”

He exhaled slowly once more — a long, languid exhale. “I wish you were here, _vhenan._ ”

 _Vhenan._ Hearing him call her this endearment, calling her his heart… it was so surreal but so _nice_ to know that he felt the same way she did. 

His breathing was slowing down once more. Nare smiled fondly. “You’re falling asleep,” she said softly.

“I… I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

She chuckled. “Don’t be. Go to sleep.”

He sighed again. “All right. I will… go to sleep.” A mere few seconds later, she heard the distinct rhythmic in-and-out of his slumbering breaths.

Feeling like her heart might burst with tenderness, she whispered into the phone one last time. “Goodnight, Solas.”

There was no reply; he was already fast asleep.

Very reluctantly, Nare ended the call, then rolled onto her back and gazed idly at the ceiling. Her body felt like a confused muddle of sensations: the ache of longing in her chest and throat, the empty feeling in the pit of her gut at how far away he was, and between her legs, the sticky reminder of her frustration.

Gods, she was horny. Obnoxiously horny. She could touch herself, of course, but in truth, masturbating didn’t hold the same appeal that it used to — not now that she knew the completion that Solas could bring her with _his_ fingers. Or his tongue. Or his cock. Gods, his fingers and his tongue, then his cock… 

Her pussy throbbed with longing. Overwhelmed with lust and loneliness, she curled up on her side once more. 

She hated the uncertainty of not knowing when she and Solas could be together again. Sure, they’d see each other in seminar, but in some ways, that was worse than not seeing each other at all. She was going to have to sit there in his class, watching him talk and gesture with his hands and pace slowly around the room while he lectured, and she would have to put up the pretense of just admiring him for his intellect and his artistic skill when what she really admired about him was… gods, everything. 

_Tomorrow is going to be torture,_ she thought morosely. But… what if they could be together after seminar? If they could… would he… could she convince him to be with her in his office?

A rush of lust-tinted hope filled her chest, and she pensively nibbled the inside of her cheek. Trying to seduce him after seminar was a pretty solid idea, actually. She and Solas had previously met in his office after seminar on the pretext of advisory meetings, so that wouldn’t be suspicious. And ever since they’d begun sleeping together, their advisory meetings always involved some form of intimacy, but Solas always had the self-control to slow them both down before things got truly heated in his office.

Although, Nare thought, he seemed to be loosening up about getting busy with her in his office. At first, the farthest he would go was kissing — if ‘kissing’ was a sufficient word for the way Solas devoured her mouth with his slow passionate kisses and the seductive strokes of his tongue while sinking his fingers into her hair. Over the past couple of weeks, however, Solas had been getting gradually more intimate with her in his office. The last time they’d had a meeting together, he’d allowed her to straddle his lap on the couch. And he’d slipped his thumbs into the waistband of her pants, almost like he wanted to pull them down. If he hadn’t had a meeting with Merrill lined up, Nare was _pretty_ sure he might have actually slid his fingers into her pants…

Her heart flipped at the wonderful thought. Solas seemed to be warming to the idea of having sex in his office, and Nare was pretty sure that all he needed was a firm nudge in the right direction. What if Nare could nudge him tomorrow after seminar? 

_Yes,_ she thought excitedly. The thought of Solas losing his professorial control in his office, sliding his fingers into her pants while she lay back on that perfect leather couch of his, the couch that she’d first sat on while he spoke to her softly and seductively of his dreams? The thought of Solas lifting her onto his untidy desk and spreading her wide so he could taste her, touch her, fuck her hard until she had to bite his shoulder to stop herself from crying out his name… 

She dragged in a breath, then rolled onto her back and helplessly slid her hand into her panties. Maybe it was a cliché to want Solas to have sex with her in his office. Maybe it was tawdry and crass and crude. But honestly, Nare didn’t care. If being a cliché was what it took for her to be with Solas, to have his hands on her skin and his hard body flush to hers, she didn’t care if the passion they shared had to be a hasty stolen moment in his office. She didn’t care if it had to be silent and rushed. She loved Solas and lusted for Solas and missed him as badly as if they’d been apart for months, and any sensual moment with him, no matter how brief, was more deeply satisfying than any number of orgasms she could give herself all on her own.

She stroked her clit and arched her back and gasped, and as her pleasure shivered through her body, her determination crystallized in her mind: she was _carefully_ going to goad and tease and tempt Solas tomorrow until he dropped his mild-mannered professor mask. 

She was going to do everything in her power tomorrow to coax her professor to fuck her in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: intellectual bullshit, and smut. 🤓😏😂


	47. Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pseudo-intellectual blah blah ~~that you shouldn't look at too closely LOL~~ and smuuuut! 💦

###  SOLAS 

Solas was resting on the couch in his office and listening to an audiobook when his phone vibrated with a text.

_Nare Tues Oct 13 12:27  
Hey are you on your lunch break right now?_

He paused his audiobook to tap out a reply.

_Solas 12:27  
Yes, I am. Enjoying a moment of quiet in the office. And yourself?_

_Nare 12:27  
I finished those skin tone and lighting studies you assigned to me!_

_Solas 12:27  
I’m glad to hear it. Is this what you would like to focus on during our meeting this afternoon?_

_Nare 12:27  
Yep! Can I send you photos to look at?_

_Solas 12:27  
Of course. I look forward to seeing what you have done._

He set his phone down on his chest and resumed his audiobook. A few seconds later, however, his phone buzzed once more.

He picked it up and looked at the notification on his lock screen; it seemed that Nare had sent him a photo, which was a surprise. He had been expecting her to email the photos of her work so they could look at them together on his monitor later today.

He swiped into his messages to look at the photo, then sat bolt upright on the couch. Nare hadn’t sent him a photo of her painting studies. She’d sent him a photo of herself. 

It was a selfie, taken using a full-length mirror. Nare was wearing a short grey skirt and a green knitted sweater, and she was on her knees with her back to the mirror. She was looking coyly over her shoulder, and the hem of her skirt was pulled up a little bit, affording him a glimpse of her bottom.

He stared at the tantalizing hint of lace that graced the curve of her butt. The peek of her smooth pale skin, just a tiny hint of skin in an otherwise demure photo: it wasn’t a nude photo, not by far, but the tempting glimpse of Nare’s bottom and the slight parting of her lips combined to make this the most erotic photo Solas had ever seen.

His cock was throbbing, and his heart was hammering in his ears. He sat there on the couch just staring at the photo, this unbelievably appealing photo: the first and only photo of herself that she had ever sent him, a photo she had clearly taken just for him, to please him — and to tempt him…

Unable to help himself, he let out a little laugh and rubbed his chin. _Vixen_ , he thought with a combination of frustration and amusement. He knew exactly what she was trying to do: she was trying to goad him into having his way with her after their seminar this afternoon.

He exhaled slowly and leaned his head back on the couch. He had been purposely trying to keep his sexual relationship with Nare out of his office, and not just because of the obvious risk of being caught. Somewhere in the convoluted logic of his mind, he had the notion that if he kept his office as a professional space for himself and Nare, he could maintain the pretense that their liaison would have no impact on their professional lives. If he kept their romantic ties out of his office, he could pretend that the idyllic bliss of their forbidden moments together could carry on indefinitely without facing the cold reality of their professional inequality. 

He was fighting a losing battle, though, and he knew it. With every moment that he and Nare were together, every warm embrace and every blissful climax and every tender conversation they shared, Solas was craving her more and more. He craved the scent of her skin and the sound of her voice murmuring in his ear, and he craved the honeyed taste of her pleasure on his tongue. As the days and weeks went on, he was finding it harder to resist the temptation of sating his cravings for her during their meetings in his office… and he knew that Nare knew this just as well as he did.

He huffed in amusement and admired the photo, both for its erotic beauty and for how shamelessly she was trying to goad him. He knew exactly what she was trying to do with this selfie, and it was almost shameful how easily his self-control was crumbling. With a single photo, a single carefully-composed selfie showcasing her submissiveness and her perfectly spankable bottom, Nare was on the verge of breaking Solas’s last feeble attempts to keep their professional and personal lives apart. 

An excited thrum was buzzing through his veins, and his hidden hungry side was stirring more restlessly by the second. He stared greedily at the photo for a moment longer, then began typing out a text to her. 

Before he could finish, however, he saw the typing-ellipsis indicating that she was writing to him instead.

_Nare 12:29  
Oh no I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to send that! I mean to send photos of my studies!_

_Nare 12:29  
I’m so sorry professor, please forgive me!_

He snorted a little laugh. He could so clearly picture her wide blue eyes and her would-be-innocent expression. There was no way that she was at all sorry.

_Solas 12:29  
That was certainly not the kind of study I assigned to you, Nare._

_Nare 12:29  
I know, I’m very sorry! _

_Nare 12:29  
Are you going to critique it anyway?_

He grinned and rubbed his mouth. Her mock innocence, her unabashed baiting… he ought to resist her, and he knew it. But the wolf at the back of his mind was prowling to the fore and taking control of the phone in his hands.

_Solas 12:29  
That was a cheeky request. Hardly the sort of request that a good student would make._

_Nare 12:29  
Oh no! Please don’t discipline me 🥺_

_Solas 12:30  
You are not the one who makes that call. If I think you require discipline, then discipline is what you’ll get._

_Solas 12:30  
This is for your benefit, Nare. This is how you will learn. Do you understand?_

_Nare 12:30  
Yes… _

_Solas 12:30  
Yes, what?_

_Nare 12:30  
Yes, professor ❤_

_Yes, professor._ Ah, how quickly those had become some of his favourite words from Nare — close favourites behind ‘fuck me’, ‘I miss you’, and his absolute favourites: ‘I love you’.

Warm with affection and want, he flipped back to Nare’s photo to admire it again: the perfect combination of confidence and coyness in the tilt of her head and the arch of her spine. Then he tapped back into their messages.

_Solas 12:30  
In all seriousness, please do send me photos of your finished studies. I will happily look them over with you at our meeting. _

_Nare 12:30  
Check your email, I already did! _

_Solas 12:30  
Ah. You are a good student after all._

He waited for her response, but when a minute went by with no reply, he wondered if perhaps she’d gotten distracted. Just as he was about to return to his desk to try and do some work, his phone buzzed.

He eagerly checked his messages, and another throb of lust pulsed through his abdomen: Nare had sent him another selfie. She was sprawled on her back on her bed with her fiery hair spread around her, and once again, she wasn’t looking at the camera. Instead, her head was turned to the side, eyes closed, knuckles of her free hand brushing against her parted lips… 

She looked like she was in the midst of a climax. Solas stared at the photo, his entire body awash with lust and his mind utterly blanked by it, until his phone vibrated with another text.

_Nare 12:33  
Does that make me a good student?_

He exhaled slowly, excitedly. His lovely Nare… she was being so incredibly impertinent.

_Solas 12:33  
No._

_Nare 12:33  
No?_

_Solas 12:33  
Sending provocative photos and messages to your professor? No, Nare. You are an exceedingly badly-behaved student, and there will be consequences._

_Nare 12:33  
What kind of consequences?_

Solas smiled at her final message. Without replying, he rose from the couch and returned to his desk, all while pretending that he wasn’t suffering from an incredibly distracting erection.

He stared blankly at his screen for a second, then shook himself slightly and tried to focus on the half-finished editorial on his screen. A minute later, his phone buzzed again. 

He smiled faintly and ignored his phone. It buzzed again after a minute, and when a third message came through a couple of minutes later, Solas finally deigned to check the screen.

_Nare 12:34  
Oh no please don’t ghost me! I promise to be good!_

_Nare 12:35  
Professor please 🙏_

_Nare 12:37  
Please? I need you. I can’t wait to see you_

He studied her increasingly desperate messages with no small amount of smugness, then typed out a short text in response.

_Solas 12:37  
Patience, Nare._

He sent the text, then rose from his chair and purposely placed his phone in his coat pocket so as to remove the temptation to message her anymore. He had work to do before the seminar, and he needed to shift back into an academic frame of mind until he and Nare were alone.

 _You ought to try and keep that academic frame of mind for the rest of the day,_ he chastised himself. But it was too late for such logic; his wolflike side was in charge now even as he returned his attention to his work, and that wolflike side felt no shame or guilt for his reckless behaviour. No, his wolflike side felt only a smug sort of masculine satisfaction. After all, he had successfully one-upped Nare at her own tricky little game.

She thought she could tease and goad him? She was wrong. If there was anyone who would be doing the teasing today, it was Solas.

*********************************

At two o’clock that afternoon, Nare and the other five seminar students filed into the small classroom and assembled around the conference table, and Solas instantly recognized Nare’s clothing. She was wearing the same grey skirt and dark green sweater as in the selfies she’d sent him today, and her hair was styled with the same loose waves as in the photos. The only difference now was that her lovely legs were covered with black tights instead of being bare.

_She took those photos today,_ he thought, with a wry sort of heat in his gut. Solas had been wondering whether she’d staged those photos on a different day. The thought that she’d taken them today, to tempt him on this specific day…

It should frustrate him that she was trying to lure him into breaking his resolve. But with his cocky wolflike side still in charge, Solas only felt a dark sort of amusement at her provocation.

The students sat at the conference table and pulled out their notebooks or laptops, and as usual, Nare sat in the seat closest to him. When he made eye contact with her, she flashed him the tiniest secretive smile.

He nodded a polite greeting to her and maintained a pleasantly neutral mask. When the students were all settled in, he rose from his own seat and turned to the whiteboard behind the table. 

He picked up a marker and wrote a quote on the whiteboard, then turned back to face his students. “‘To be able to critique a piece of art is to understand what art is at its very core’,” he said. “Recall that at the beginning of the semester, I presented you with this quote and told you that our task would be to unpack this quote: to break it into its two parts — the art and the critique thereof — and to decide, ultimately, whether this statement is true.” 

He began to pace slowly around the room as he went on. “Over the past few weeks, we have largely been discussing the history of art critique, and the different schools of thought: the ways that different cultures critique their art, and the overarching principles of art critique that span the world’s many cultural divides. Now that we are halfway through the semester, we will be shifting our focus to something more abstract and considerably more contentious: we will be discussing the nature of art itself.” 

He returned to the whiteboard, and beneath the quote, he wrote another sentence: _What is art?_

There was a soft ripple of laughter among the students. Solas smiled faintly as he turned to face them, and he forced himself not to focus on the curl of a smile playing across Nare’s lips.

“You are laughing now,” he said to the students. “But for all of your education and training, I suspect that none of you has really thought about this in detail, and not through the lens of an art critic, which is what you are training yourselves to be during this class.” He tapped the whiteboard gently with his knuckles. “Is this a question that any of you has ever been asked to consider in your other classes?”

Nare raised her hand. “Felassan has brought it up in his art history seminar.”

Solas smiled wryly. “I imagine that he has. And I’m sure we will soon address his opinion on the matter. But before we do, has anyone else ever heard this question posed in one of their classes?”

The other students shook their heads. Satisfied, Solas folded his hands behind his back. “So. Who would like to be the first to tell me their definition of art?”

A beat of silence passed. Then, inevitable as sunrise, Nare raised her hand once more.

Solas nodded politely to her. “Yes, Nare?”

“Art is a creative expression,” she said. “It’s an expression of something from the artist’s imagination.”

Solas nodded slowly. “You’ve suggested two concepts there: creativity and imagination. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

He nodded again. Then, slowly and purposely, he began to pace around the classroom. “What about paintings that portray real subjects or locations, then, such as a landscape? Or a portrait?” he added, as a purposeful dig. “These are not imaginary; do they not count as art?”

She shook her head. “No, um, what I mean that it’s — it’s art if the artist has interpreted the subject somehow. That’s how the imagination comes in.”

“Interpretation,” Solas mused. “That is interesting. So you’re suggesting that it is not purely the work itself that matters in defining a work of art, but the meaning the artist imbued into their creation. The way they intended their work to be seen by the audience.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Nare said. 

Solas nodded again. Then he stopped on the opposite side of the table from her and folded his arms. “How important is the artist’s interpretation, then, in your opinion? How much does the creator’s interpretation matter in defining whether the work is artistic or not?”

Nare twisted her lips thoughtfully. “I think… it depends on the kind of art you’re making.”

Solas smiled. “I believe that brings us to a circular argument.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You’re positing that art is borne of the artist’s interpretation, but the importance of the interpretation depends on what type of art it is. So which comes first? The interpretation or the art?”

Nare blinked at him. “Um… I don’t know.”

He smiled faintly. “Neither do some artists. Neither do some critics, for that matter. Perhaps there is no clear answer.”

She studied him shrewdly for a second, then picked up her pen and began to write.

He tilted his head curiously. “What are you writing?”

“What you just said,” she replied.

“Why?” he said, amused. “I am simply paraphrasing what _you_ said.”

She stopped writing and looked up. “Oh. I guess I’m pretty smart, then.”

The other students chuckled, and Solas studied her cheeky expression with a flicker of heated amusement. _Mischievous sprite,_ he thought. He forced himself not to grin and lifted an eyebrow instead, and when Nare demurely dropped her gaze to her notebook, he looked to the other students. “Who else has an opinion?”

Keira, a Rivaini student, raised her hand. “Georgia O’Keefe once said that art means ‘filling a space in a beautiful way’.”

“She did indeed,” Solas said. “Is that what you believe? That art should be beautiful?”

“Yeah, totally,” Keira said.

Solas nodded slowly and began to pace once more. “Then what do you say to exhibits depicting grotesque or disturbing subject matter? Do those not count as art to you?”

Keira wilted. “Oh. No, of course they do.”

“Do not say ‘of course’,” Solas said firmly. He looked at all of the students in turn. “Do not take for granted that something is art just because you are told that it is. That is the point of this discussion.”

Nare piped up. “But that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“What is a problem?” he asked.

“You said that — that just because someone says something is art, that doesn’t _mean_ it is,” Nare said. “But that’s like saying… you’re not focusing now on what _is_ art, just on what _isn’t_.”

He smiled slowly at her. “A very astute point. I’d like you to elaborate on that.”

She hesitated, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. Nare nibbled her lip, and Solas forced himself to keep his gaze on her eyes and not on her luscious mouth. 

He gestured politely at her. “Please, Nare. Go on.”

She lifted her chin. “Felassan said that a lot of elitists and critics like to focus on defining what _isn’t_ art rather than on what _is_. He said that art sno– I mean, um, people who are pretentious–”

Solas chuckled. “Art snobs. It’s all right, Nare, you can say it.”

The students laughed, and Nare smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Okay. He said that art snobs are focused on maintaining their status by excluding people and artwork that they don’t think are good enough to be called ‘art’.”

Solas nodded and smiled. “Ah yes: the question of elitism in the art world.”

“I think Felassan has a good point,” Nare said.

“I am not denying his point,” Solas said. “But this touches on another question of interest: the audience, and their role in defining art.” He resumed his slow pacing as he continued to speak. “Recall that in Orlais and also in Arlathan during the Blessed Age and onwards, the enjoyment of art became reserved for the elite, as Nare suggested. It was only the upper class, the privileged and wealthy, who had the luxury of enjoying art. Anything that the lower-classes enjoyed was considered ‘entertainment’ rather than true art, purely because it was enjoyed by the lower class.” He sat in his chair and eyed his students. “What is your opinion on that? The definition of art based on who it caters to?”

Once again, to Solas’s amusement and pride, Nare was the first to reply. “The audience shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t be considered art if the audience is rich and not-art if the audience is poor.”

Michel, an Orlesian human, leaned forward. “So are you saying that you’d consider the Archdemon movies to be art just as much as a movie like _Portrait d’une jeune fille en feu_?” 

At the mention of _Portrait d’une jeune fille en feu_ , Nare’s ears began turning pink, and Solas knew why: it was the film that he and Nare had watched on the first day they’d made love.

The memory sent an inconvenient ripple of satisfaction through his veins. He took a slow breath through his nose, then turned to Nare. “Your rebuttal?” he said calmly.

She darted him a look. “U-um — um, no. That’s…” She took a deep breath, then turned to face Michel. “No, I wouldn’t consider the Archdemons to be on par with _Portrait d’une jeune fille en feu_ , but it’s not because of the intended audience.”

“It kind of is,” Michel said. “The Archdemon movies were made for mass appeal, but _Portrait d’une jeune fille en feu_ was made for… like, for people who enjoy art films.”

“That’s turning into a circular argument, though, like Solas said,” Nare retorted. “How can you say a film is art just because it’s made for people who like art films?”

Michel’s face fell slightly, and Solas nodded. “Very good, Nare.”

Her ears turned even pinker. Satisfied and aware that he should _not_ be feeling so satisfied, he stood up once more just to put a bit of distance between himself and her.

He folded his arms and leaned back against the whiteboard. “Tell us, then, what the basis is for _your_ distinction between the Archdemon films and _Portrait d’une jeune fille en feu_.”

“It’s what the filmmakers were intending when they made those movies,” she said. “ _Portrait d’une jeune fille en feu_ was made with the intention to tell a story. To bring a story to life. The Archdemon movies are made with…” She trailed off and made a little face. “Okay, there’s some intention to tell a story, but it’s more to make money.”

He tilted his head. “The artist’s intention is very important to you.”

“I… I guess it is, yeah,” she said. She crossed her legs and adjusted her skirt, revealing a glimpse of bare thigh.

Bare thigh. A glimpse of bare thigh. She wasn’t wearing tights after all, but thigh-high socks. 

A thump of recognition made his heart flip. Thigh-high socks, a short pleated skirt and a knitted sweater: he recognized this combination of clothing items. Nare was dressed similarly to the first time she had come to his apartment — the first time he had slid his palms along her temptingly half-bare thighs, spreading her wide and delving his fingers into the pulsing heart of her pleasure while he murmured commands into her ear.

A rush of possessive _want_ rippled through his body and straight to his groin. She was such a vixen, tempting him with her selfies and her student-like clothing and now with her big blue widely-innocent eyes… 

_Fenedhis_ , he could feel his cock straightening in his trousers. With as much composure as he could muster, he stepped away from the whiteboard and seated himself at the table once more. “The importance of the artist’s intention,” he mused. “That is an interesting perspective for a representational artist such as yourself.” He leaned back in his chair, then began unbuttoning the cuffs of his button-up shirt.

“What, um… what do you mean?” Nare said. 

Without looking at her, he began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “You said earlier that the importance of the artist’s intention — that is, the way they interpret the world through their art — depends on the type of art. Some might argue that representational art is the type of art that involves the least interpretation on the artist’s part.” When his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he looked at her once more.

Her expression was calm, but her gaze was on his forearms. When he looked at her, her eyes darted up to his face, and he was vindictively satisfied to see that her pupils were wide and dark with interest. 

“N-no, that’s — that’s not necessarily true,” she said.

“Yes it is,” Michel said from across the table.

Nare gave him a sharp look. “Not necessarily,” she said. “Even when you’re painting a real person or place, you’re still interpreting what you see. Focusing on some parts of the subject more than others, or — or bringing out certain things about the subject’s face that lets you see what they’re _really_ feeling. It’s still — there’s still—” She took a deep breath as though to calm herself, then turned to Solas. “The artist still _means_ something even when it’s — when you’re painting the likeness of something real.”

Her expression was slightly belligerent, like she knew she was losing their little game, and Solas fought hard not to smirk. 

On Nare’s other side, Keira raised her hand. “I agree with Nare.”

“ _I_ don’t,” Michel said. “I think representational art is basically like photography.”

Keira frowned, and another student named Philippa scoffed. “What are you saying? You don’t think photography is art?”

Solas rose to his feet and rested his fingertips on the table. “Be calm,” he reminded them. “This is a debate, not an argument.”

The students continued their debate in calmer voices. Nare, meanwhile, was sitting quietly now with her arms folded while she listened to the others’ talk, but beneath the table, she was bouncing her foot in a distinctly jittery way.

Spirits, he wanted to say something to her. To praise her cogent arguments today, to admonish her for tempting him so boldly, to remind her how much impertinence she had to make up for. He wanted to place his hand on her jittering leg to soothe her, to comfort her, to pry her thighs wide open… 

He rested his elbows on the table and casually folded his hands. Nare glanced at him, a very brief _I-know-what-you’re-doing_ kind of look, and the heat in her eyes stole his breath. 

Then she leaned toward the other students. “Photography is art just as much as actual painting,” she said. “Just because there’s technology involved doesn’t mean it isn’t art. That’s just an art-snob thing to say.”

_Keeping her focus despite her arousal,_ Solas thought in amusement. Despite her goading and her cheeky behaviour, she really was a very good student. 

He smiled to himself, then refocused on his students’ debate. The remainder of the class continued in this vein: Solas posed open-ended questions, and Nare was almost always the first to answer. Nare tried to provoke him with her occasional cheek, and Solas kept his veneer of calm control. Nare subtly showed off her bare thighs and the arch of her spine, and Solas subtly drew her attention to his rarely-bared forearms and hands…

The delicious tension of their back-and-forth continued to build. By the time four o’clock rolled around, Solas was wound so tight that he felt as jittery as Nare’s fidgeting legs. It was like something electric and volatile was being stored in his body, like the sensual energy of her coy glances and her delicate bare thigh was gathering and gaining strength in the depths of his body. 

The students gathered their things and murmured their goodbyes as they left the classroom, and then Solas and Nare were alone. Nare gathered her bookbag and smiled innocently at him — so innocently, as though she hadn’t been baiting him all afternoon long. “Should we head back to your office, professor?” she asked.

_Professor._ She was calling him ‘professor’, here in this classroom where he could do nothing to reprimand her?

_Veraisa,_ he thought darkly. He folded his arms. “No.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “No?”

“No,” he said quietly. “You will go home, Nare.”

Her face fell. “Home? Wh-why?”

He lowered his voice even more. “Your behaviour during this class has been unacceptable. I will need some time to prepare a suitable punishment.”

Her eyes went wide, and her face lit up just as much as it had just fallen. “Punishment?”

He forced himself not to smile at her enthusiasm. “Yes. Go home, and come back to my office at five o’clock.”

She wilted slightly. “Five? But that’s so far from now.”

She was right; it was far from now, and his own overeager body was rebelling at the idea of putting off her company for an entire hour. 

But if she returned at five o’clock, the lab would most likely be empty. 

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Are you talking back? After everything you have done today?”

She stared at him boldly for a moment, and he steadily returned her stare. Then she dropped her gaze. “No, professor.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “Go home, and I will see you in an hour.” He took a step toward the door, then paused and turned to her once more. 

He lowered his voice again. “Before I forget: while you are at home, you do _not_ have my permission to touch yourself.”

Her eyes brightened with excitement, and she nodded. “Okay, I won’t.”

He nodded and left the classroom without looking back, even though all he wanted was to feel every part of her warm and pliant body bending beneath his hands. He was certain she was soaking wet beneath that little skirt of hers, and… _fenedhis_ , the idea that she’d been sitting in his classroom and listening to him talk while her fragrant arousal slowly soaked through the fabric of her lacy underwear… it was more than he could stand. 

His cock throbbed insistently, and he picked up his pace. Thankfully, his seminar class was in the same building as the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab, so he didn’t have far to go before stepping into the lab.

Athera and Tamlen were in the main room working with a stack of books. Solas nodded a quick greeting to them, then made his way to the precious privacy of his office and closed the door.

He made a beeline for his desk, then flopped into his desk chair and immediately ran his palm over the bulge in his trousers. A bolt of pleasure fanned through his body, and he let out an involuntary gasp before clamping his mouth shut.

_I need her,_ he thought feverishly. He needed Nare’s playful smiles and her thoughtful voice and the arch of her spine when she was spreading her legs for him. He needed her, his beautiful Nare, his good girl, obeying his commands and provoking his punishment and trusting him with her body and her heart. And in an hour, just one short hour when the others had all gone home, he would have her, right here in this office.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He knew Felassan meant well with his warnings yesterday, and he knew that being with Nare in his office would seem like he was playing right into the tawdry thrill that Felassan had been insinuating. But as Solas sat here thinking about her, thinking about the satisfaction he could give her and the trust that she gave him, the intimate stories they shared and the uncanny familiarity they’d fostered in so short a time, he _knew_ that Felassan was wrong. 

Solas was thrilled by this liaison, certainly. But the thrill was not because of the liaison per se. It was because of _her_ — Nare, bright and passionate Nare, smart and sensual Nare, vulnerable and tender Nare who brought him such comfort and joy. He wasn’t with Nare for the thrill; quite the opposite, in fact. Solas was thrilled _because_ he was with Nare. 

He squeezed himself once more, then released his cock and exhaled slowly to control his impatience. If he was going to punish Nare in his office, he wanted to do it properly — which meant he needed to be entirely in control of his own thrumming urges. 

For a few minutes, Solas sat at his desk breathing slowly until he felt a bit calmer. Then, for the remainder of the hour, he tidied his office, filing and sorting through the papers and journals scattered across his desk and deleting old and irrelevant emails, and he pretended that he wasn’t counting down the minutes until Nare would arrive. 

When five o’clock finally came, his anticipation was thrumming so vividly through his veins that the long-awaited knock at the door felt like an electric jolt through his limbs.

_Be calm,_ he reminded himself. He sat back in his chair and smoothed his hand over his tie. “Enter,” he called.

Nare opened the door and sidled inside, then closed the door behind herself and approached his desk. “Professor,” she said. “I—”

“Stop,” Solas said. 

She stopped short and closed her mouth, and Solas surveyed her over the top of his reading glasses. She was standing still with her arms hanging loosely at her sides, but to Solas’s keen and predatory eye, the signs of her arousal were obvious: her subtly clenching fists, the way her knees were pressed together, the intensity of her ocean-blue gaze on his face.

“Was anyone else in the lab?” he asked quietly. 

She shook her head. “No.”

_Good,_ he thought. “Lock the door,” he said. “Put down your coat and bag.”

She wet her lips, a quick flick of the tongue over her lush lower lip, then did as he had told her. When the door was locked and her belongings were set aside, she turned back to face him.

Her eyes were bright and hot with excitement. “Is there anything else I can do for you, professor?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. 

Her eyes immediately dropped to his swollen crotch, but he pretended not to notice. Instead, he casually clasped his hands behind his back and made his way around the desk. “You seem eager to obey me now, Nare. Perhaps you think that your obedience now will cancel out your impertinence this afternoon.”

She wet her lips again before speaking. “I was hoping you would reward me for being good.”

He scoffed as he paced slowly around her. “Why would I reward you for being good when I have not yet punished you for being bad?”

She drew a shaky little breath. “I… I thought that sending me home was the punishment.”

He stopped just behind her. “You thought I sent you home to punish you?” 

She nodded, and Solas huffed in amusement. “No, Nare. That was a lesson.”

“A lesson in what?” she asked.

He took a small step closer to her, then leaned close to her ear — not close enough to touch, but close enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. “A lesson in patience,” he murmured. “One you sorely need, if you thought that being patient was a punishment.”

She pressed her lips together hard, and he smiled faintly as he paced around in front of her. “It seems that you’re attempting to hold back a cheeky comment. Is that the case?”

She nodded tightly, and he nodded his approval. “Good. That is very good, Nare. Because for your punishment today, I will require you to hold back.”

“What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at her over the top of his glasses, and she shyly dropped her gaze. “I mean — what do you mean, professor?”

He regarded her coolly for a moment. Then, slowly and deliberately, he sat on the couch. 

He spread his legs as he settled himself comfortably, then looked up at Nare. She was facing him now, her hands still clasped in front of her, but her face was lit up now with hope. 

“Come here,” he said softly, and he patted his thigh.

Her eyes widened, and she quickly stepped over to him. But before she could sit, he held up a hand. 

“Do not sit,” he said. “Lie across my lap.”

Her lips parted with excitement, just as he’d hoped they would. “Yes, professor,” she said. She kneeled beside him on the couch, then stretched out across his lap, and he admired the curves of her spine and her ass as she positioned herself.

As soon as she was settled, Solas began stroking her hair. “Look at you, obeying me so readily,” he said. “I am proud of you.”

She nodded. “I want to make you proud.”

“Good,” he said. “I hope you will keep making me proud, for your next task will be difficult.”

“What is it?” she said eagerly. 

He stroked her hair one more time. Then, carefully, he gathered her hair in his fist and gently pulled. 

She craned her head back with a tiny gasp, and Solas smiled faintly before speaking again. “You will need to be silent,” he said. “Completely silent, like in the changing room at the Black Emporium.”

She dragged in another tremulous gasp, and Solas tightened his fingers in her hair. “Will you be silent, Nare? Will you obey me?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. Satisfied, Solas released her hair, then glided his hand down along the length of her spine.

His palm drifted over her bottom. She lifted her hips as though she was eager to meet his hand, and a thrill pulsed through his chest and down to his groin. Seeing her so eager for his touch, so eager to have his hands on her body, just as eager as he was to fill his palms with her perfect silken-skinned flesh…

Unable to resist any longer, he skimmed his palm along the bare patch of skin at the back of her thigh, then flipped up her skirt.

A roar of blazing-hot lust tore through him, rendering his mind blank for a split second. Nare wasn’t wearing panties. The hint of lace from her selfie this morning was gone, giving Solas the privileged view of Nare’s beautifully bare ass.

He dragged in a laboured breath. “You removed your underwear?” he rasped.

“Is that bad?” she said in a small voice. “I… they’re in my purse if you want me to wear them, b-but I — I wanted to be ready for your punishment.”

He exhaled slowly and smoothed his palm over her beautiful bare bottom. “This is not bad at all, Nare,” he murmured. “This is… this is wonderful. Being prepared for your punishment…” He squeezed her buttock gently, satisfied when she arched her spine with want. 

“This is exactly what a very good student would do,” he told her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder with a tiny smile. “If I did so well, do you still need to punish me?”

He huffed. How dare she be so cheeky? Without warning, he brought his palm down on her bottom in a light smack.

She gasped, then pressed her lips together hard, and Solas smiled. “That’s better. Stay silent for me.” He lowered his voice to a deeper, more intimate pitch. “Stay silent for your professor.”

She inhaled sharply through her nose and nodded. Solas caressed her buttock for a moment, savouring the smoothness of her skin beneath his palm, then delivered another light slap.

The sharp sound of skin-on-skin sent a thrill down his spine. Nare arched and wiggled her hips, and Solas stroked her hair soothingly and ran his palm over her unspanked buttock. “Be calm, Nare,” he crooned. “Be a good girl for me.”

She let out a sharp little huff of breath through her nose, like a silent whimper, and Solas lovingly caressed her bottom and the backs of her thighs until she was writhing on his lap.

Then he spanked her again.

She jolted and craned her neck back, and Solas tore his eyes away from her bottom to look at her face. Her lips were parted and her face was contorted with pleasure — pleasure that he was giving her with his own hands, the only hands that Nare had ever trusted to touch her in such an intense and intimate way…

His heart pulsed hotly in his chest. With his free hand, the one that wasn’t greedily caressing her ass, he stroked her hair, then ran his knuckles gently along the side of her cheek.

She turned her face toward his knuckles, and Solas watched adoringly as she kissed his knuckles. Then, with the utmost tender care, he wrapped his fingers around her throat.

She gasped and arched her spine. Solas spanked her, and a tiny yelp left her throat. 

He tightened his fingers around her throat and stilled his hand on her bottom. “Was that a sound, Nare?”

She wriggled more desperately and nodded, and Solas carefully watched her beautiful face as he spoke. “Did I say that you could make a sound?”

She shook her head and lifted her hips in a wordless bid for him to stroke her ass, but he purposely kept his hand still. “You’re right, Nare. I did not give you permission to make a sound.” 

She shook her head again. Her hips were rising and falling now in a small but rhythmic motion, almost as though she was trying to fuck the empty space beneath her hips, and Solas stared at the rise and fall of her ass as though he’d been hypnotized.

He spanked her again, one sharp little smack to each buttock, then reached between her legs and stroked her sex.

A desperate burst of air left her lips before she clamped them shut once more, and Solas studied the twisted longing in her face as he slipped his fingers through her slickness. “I know this is what you want,” he told her quietly. “You want to be rewarded: to be given the pleasure of my fingers moving through the precious moisture here. Is that correct?”

She nodded and bucked back to meet his hand, but he purposely kept his fingers gentle and his strokes very light, feeling the swollen slickness of her flesh without moving near her clit. 

Then he removed his fingers from between her legs. 

She twisted wantonly on his lap, her lips falling open on a silent plea, and Solas took a moment to admire her utter desperation before speaking. “I’m afraid you must earn this reward,” he said. “You will need to tolerate a little more punishment before you have earned the right to come.”

She bit her lips and nodded, and when Solas spanked her again, her mouth popped open once more on a silent cry. He squeezed her throat and spanked her and caressed her again and again, delivering three more spanks to each buttock until her skin was just starting to turn slightly pink.

He admired the tender flush of her skin for a moment, then looked at her face once more. “You are a very good girl,” he told her, and he slid one finger inside of her. 

She gasped and pressed her hips back to take his finger all the way to the knuckle, and Solas squeezed her throat. “Calm, Nare,” he crooned. “Be calm and still. Let your professor touch you.” He carefully pulled his finger from inside of her, then began gently caressing her clit.

A tiny hint of a whimper left her throat, but Solas decided to let it slide. He was getting eager now as well, too aroused and greedy for her climax to hold out any longer, and her perfect pussy was hot and slick with desire: shining, fragrant desire that painted the insides of her thighs as well as her folds. Solas suspected that if he hadn’t started touching her just now, she would begin to drip onto his couch or his thigh. 

_For the best that I am touching her, then,_ he thought smugly. He continued to pet her clit, teasing the swollen bud with a gentle caress that he knew she particularly liked. He petted her clit and stroked her sensitive folds, touching her carefully to make her spine twist and arch with pleasure. Then, when her fists were clenching on the couch and her face was a picture of near-ecstasy, Solas suddenly took his hand away.

She gasped, then sobbed and jammed her fist against her mouth, and Solas gazed adoringly at her as she writhed and twisted across his lap like a creature of pure desire. She was so beautiful, so uninhibited and open and trusting, lying across his fully clothed lap with her body so exposed — her body that only _he_ had the privilege of bringing such pleasure, that only _he_ was able to touch this way to make her writhe and twist with desperation…

His heart and his cock were pounding, like a harmony of love and lust combined. He stroked her throat gently, then resumed his careful petting of her clit. 

Less than a minute later, Nare climaxed on his lap, and Solas stared shamelessly at her as she came. It was like her body was translating her pleasure into a mess of uncoordinated movement instead of her usual pleasured cries: clenching fists and writhing hips and twitching feet, all overlaid with the convulsive shudders of her climax. When she started to come down from her rapture, Solas slid his finger inside of her once more.

She arched viciously and dug her nails into the couch, and Solas released her throat. “Get on your knees,” he said. His tone was guttural and rough, a fitting match for how feral he felt — how feral _she_ had made him feel by coming apart so thoroughly and completely on his lap. 

She nodded fervently, and as soon as Solas pulled his finger free from her tightness, she slid off of his lap and kneeled at his feet. 

She reached for his belt, but he grabbed her hand. “No,” he said sharply. “Open your mouth.”

Her lips instantly fell open. Solas sat forward on the couch, and without breaking from her glassy-eyed gaze, he slid his finger into her mouth — the finger that he’d been using to pleasure her. 

She closed her lips around his finger and sucked, and Solas exhaled hard. Her perfect lips, perfect flushed lips — he needed them, needed _her_ , so badly…

He pulled his finger from her mouth, then lifted her chin with a firm hand on her jaw. “You will suck my cock like this, Nare,” he told her. “Hard and slow, just like this. Do you understand?”

“Yes, professor,” she said, and a broad smile lit her face. 

She looked so pleasured and so consummately happy. He smiled helplessly back at her, his heart fluttering in his chest even as his cock throbbed for sorely-needed attention. And for a moment, just a brief moment, he dropped his stern-professor demeanour and kissed her.

He kissed her deeply but slowly, a careful and thorough kiss, and he savoured the feeling of her lips parting and giving way to the entry of his tongue. For a sweet, suspended moment, Solas and Nare simply kissed, and Solas imagined that they were taking a moment of stillness in the eye of their lustful and torrid storm — a moment of peace to acknowledge, despite the lust and the carnal need that drove them both, that they were deeply and hopelessly in love.

Gradually, slowly, he peeled his lips away from hers, then rose to his feet. “Rise up on your knees,” he murmured, and he began unbuckling his belt. 

Nare obediently sat up on her knees, her gaze fixed on his hands as he unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. But before freeing himself, he paused. 

She looked up at him quizzically, her eyes bright and eager with lust, and Solas gazed seriously at her over the top of his glasses. “Keep your hands on your knees,” he told her. “I will guide you as I want you. I will fill your throat as deeply as _I_ want to.” He lowered his voice. “And if you want me to stop, you will squeeze my ankle. Is that understood?”

She nodded. Solas loosed his cock from his trousers and slowly pumped his fist along his length, and her eyes grew wide with greed. 

He stepped closer to her. “Open your mouth,” he commanded. 

She immediately opened her mouth. Solas tipped up her chin and admired her docile posture for a moment, and then, _finally_ , he slid his cock between her lips. 

A gusty breath left his lungs. Her mouth was wet and hot and her lips were soft as they closed around his width, and when she leaned forward slightly to take him, the softness of her throat caressed his tip. _Fenedhis,_ she felt so _good_ — so warm and sleek, her throat soft and her tongue pulling firmly at his shaft with every firm suck, so willing and obedient on her knees for him…

He slowly withdrew from her mouth, then pumped into her once more. “Good girl,” he moaned. 

She inhaled sharply through her nose, and then his cock was sliding so deeply into her throat that it cut off her air. Her fingers clenched on her knees like she was forcing herself not to touch him, and as Solas continued to slowly fuck her mouth, she began writhing her hips, moving them in a restless wiggle that practically screamed of her need. But still, despite her desperation, she was taking his cock so deeply and thoroughly, following the guidance of his hand on her jaw… 

He released her chin and gathered her hair carefully in his hands, and Nare let out a stifled moan around his cock. When he pulled gently on her hair, she dug her nails into her knees, and yet, despite her obvious need, she kept on suckling him as he pumped himself smoothly in and out of her mouth.

He stared at her with a slow and delicious rising of rapture in his gut. His Nare, his beautiful student, his good girl taking him so deep and bringing him so much ecstasy — not just ecstasy, but happiness too, bringing him joy with every moment they spent together… 

Overcome by adoration and lust, he released her hair and stepped back, pulling his length from her lips. “Stand up,” he rasped. 

She shakily rose to her feet. As soon as she was standing, Solas pulled her close with one hand at her neck and kissed her once more.

She gripped his waist and thrust her tongue into his mouth with a whimper, and Solas sank into the carnal desperation of her kiss for a moment before pulling away. “Are you ready for me, Nare?” he panted.

Her face lit up, and she nodded fervently. 

“Show me,” he said, and he took a small step back from her.

She pulled up her skirt, and Solas stared at her sex. She was swollen and slick — no, not just slick, but dripping: crystal-clear threads of desire were gathering between her legs and trickling along her inner thigh. 

_Mine,_ he thought, with a rush of possessive satisfaction. She was wet and ready and waiting to be fucked, and she belonged to _him_. 

He exhaled slowly and ran his fingers along the inside of her thigh. “Be a good girl and stand behind my desk,” he said. 

She nodded and hurried behind his desk, and Solas slowly stroked himself as he joined her. He pushed his desk chair out of the way, then stepped up behind her and wrapped his hand around her throat from behind.

She gasped and grabbed his wrist, then gasped again when he pressed his lips to her ear. “Listen carefully, and do exactly as I say,” he murmured. “When I release you, you will bend over and put your cheek on my desk. When I press myself inside of you, you will come for me.” 

She whimpered softly and nodded, and Solas went on. “When you have finished, I will fuck you until I am ready to come.” He dropped his voice to a soft and feral growl. “And when I am ready to come, Nare, you will fall to your knees for your professor, and you will swallow every drop of my come like the excellent student that you are.”

She dragged in a breath and nodded, and Solas gently nipped her ear. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, professor!” she whimpered. 

“Good girl,” he purred. “Now do as I told you.” 

He released her throat and stepped back. Nare instantly bent at the waist and laid her cheek on the table, then reached down and pulled up the edge of her skirt. 

“Please fuck me, professor,” she begged.

Solas stared at her in wonder. Her long red hair was splayed recklessly across his desk and her lust was trickling down the inside of her thigh, and… spirits, she was simply the most appealing woman he had ever known. She was a passionate temptress whose smiles were just as sweet as the dew between her legs, whose voice he loved equally when she was laughing or debating in class or crying out her pleasure or murmuring softly in his ear. Solas stared at her, loving her and lusting for her in equal measure, and in this perfect moment of trust and yearning and desire, he couldn’t believe that he had resisted having her in his office for so long.

He ran his fist along his cock and stepped up behind her, then spanked her. 

She jolted and gasped, and Solas reached forward and twined his fingers in her hair. “That’s for speaking out of turn,” he told her, and he entered her with a long smooth thrust.

She craned her head back toward his hand and gasped, and Solas released his breath in an enraptured hiss. Gods, she was so… perfect, she was perfect, tight and hot and so thrillingly and incredibly _wet_. 

He slowly withdrew from her, then gripped her hip and gently pulled her hair as he thrust into her once more. “Is this good for you, Nare?” he gritted. “Do you enjoy being bent over your professor’s desk?”

She mewled softly, and Solas dragged in another shaky gasp as he withdrew. “I know you enjoy this,” he said tightly. “You enjoy being filled up by your professor’s cock, don’t you?”

She nodded and wiggled her hips pleadingly, and Solas eagerly slid into her once more. He treated her to three more long and careful thrusts, then withdrew from her and paused.

She whimpered and strained back toward him, and Solas teasingly nudged her entrance with the head of his cock. “There is something I need you to remember,” he said in a quiet voice. “Are you listening carefully?”

She nodded and writhed her hips. She was gasping for breath now, short sharp gasps of abject desperation as she strained her ass back toward him, and Solas rubbed his cock against her entrance for a moment longer.

He released her hair and tenderly pressed her cheek down to rest on the desk again. “You are mine,” he said, and he filled her with a smooth, firm thrust.

She came with a beautiful whole-body shudder. She dragged in a gulp of air and shoved her hand to her mouth to stifle herself, and Solas stared at her beautiful ecstatic face, his cock pulsing in time with her spasming climax as she came around his length. The pull of her body, the tightness of her private heat, the look of her coming undone on top of his workspace… it was perfect, _she_ was perfect, and in this singular, perfect moment with Nare shuddering beneath his hands, he knew he would never want to be with anyone else for the rest of his life.

He drew a slow breath, then bent toward her and smoothed back her hair. “You belong to me,” he murmured. “It is _my_ cock that fills you up and _my_ seed that reaches inside of your secret depths and trails down the insides of your thighs. You are mine, Nare — my very good girl. Do you understand?”

She sobbed against the back of her hand and nodded. Solas pulled out of her, then thrust into her again and again, hard thrusts that reverberated through his body, building the pleasure in his core, bringing him closer and closer, making him tense and edgy and _ready…_

He pulled out of her with a gasp and squeezed his shaft. “Nare,” he groaned.

She quickly slid off of the desk and onto her knees. Solas took a step toward her, and she grabbed his thighs and took his cock into her mouth.

He groaned and grabbed the edge of his desk for support. Nare was suckling him hard and fast, her mouth moving along the length of his cock with the exact suction and rhythm that was driving his pleasure to a frenzied height. He cradled the nape of her neck with his free hand, but he was barely guiding her now, he was barely doing a thing — _she_ was guiding him, pulling him inexorably closer to his pleasure with her soft lips and her warm mouth and her tight throat, yes, Nare, _vhenan_... 

He came with a groan, his cock pulsing and throbbing as his climax flowed down her throat, and Nare continued to suck him all the while, heightening the ripples of pleasure as they fanned through his abdomen and his limbs and down to his calves and the tips of his toes. An ecstatic eternity later, she released him, and he pried open his eyes to look down at her.

She was grinning. Her eyes were twinkling with joy and mischief, and Solas couldn’t stop himself from smiling back in response. 

He collapsed into his desk chair with a happy sigh, and Nare stood up and seated herself on his desk. “This was a really productive meeting,” she said. “Thank you, professor.”

He shot her a chiding smirk as he tucked himself back into his pants. Nare’s smile broadened, and Solas tilted his head. “Is something amusing?”

“You kept your glasses on,” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said blankly, and he reached up to take the glasses off. “I didn’t realize—”

“Wait,” she said hastily, and she took his hand. “You don’t have to take them off. It was hot.”

He blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

Her ears began turning pink, and she started to laugh. “It was, um. You looked more professor-y with the glasses on.” 

Solas purposely gave her a wry look over the top of his glasses. “Should I wear them every time, then?” 

“No, no!” she said. “Just, um, sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” he drawled.

She laughed harder and covered her mouth. “Fuck, now I’m embarrassed.”

He chuckled and finally took mercy on her. “Come closer,” he said, and he patted his knee.

She beamed at him and promptly slid off of his desk, then hesitated. “Um, hang on one second.” She rounded his desk and picked up her handbag, and he watched curiously as she fished around in her bag. After a second’s searching, she pulled out her panties with a smile. 

Solas chuckled, and Nare grinned as she put them on. “Don’t laugh,” she said. “I’m putting them on for your benefit. I don’t want to get your pants all messy.”

“I believe I benefited considerably without your panties,” he said slyly.

Nare gasped in amusement. “Naughty professor!” 

He smiled and gestured for her to come close. A moment later, she was settling herself in his lap. 

She draped her arms around his shoulders, and Solas curled his arms around her as well, stroking her back affectionately while his other hand rested cozily on her knee. For a sweet, peaceful moment, they sat in his chair together, and Solas simply enjoyed the warm weight of her beloved body perched on his thigh. 

“Can I ask you something?” Nare said quietly.

“Certainly,” he said.

To his surprise, her question wasn’t personal. “What’s _your_ definition of art?” she asked.

He scoffed. “I cannot tell you that.”

Her eyebrows rose. “What? How come?”

“I never tell my seminar students until the end of the course, for fear of influencing their thinking,” he explained. “It would be nepotism if I told you.”

She blurted a laugh. “Oh! Oh, of course. Okay, that’s fair.” She smiled at him and poked his arm. “Look at you, not giving me favours. You’re a very good professor.”

He huffed at her jocular tone. “The reality of what just happened here would suggest otherwise.”

Her smile faded, and she squeezed his shoulder. “Hey. Don’t think like that. This doesn’t make you a bad professor.”

He gazed at her with a mixture of affection and regret — not regret for what they had just done, exactly, but a deeper regret: regret that the professional relationship that had brought them together was the very thing that was keeping them from _being_ together.

Her eyebrows tilted with worry, and she caressed the back of his neck. “Please don’t be sad,” she said softly.

“I’m not sad, precisely,” he said. “I am…” He paused and thought for a moment, then shrugged. “The only word I can summon is an Elvhen one: _mi'nas'sal'inemah_.”

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It translates to ‘the knife about to enter my soul’,” he said. 

Her face fell, and Solas tenderly stroked her back as he went on. “It refers to the feeling of missing someone before they have yet left your company. That aching feeling of knowing you will soon be parted from someone that you dearly love.”

Nare’s expression softened, and his heart swelled. The look on her face, this look of longing and tenderness: she looked exactly like how he felt. 

He lifted his chin, and she cradled his jaw in her palm and kissed him. He tightened his arms around her and kissed her back, and for a quiet, bittersweet moment, Solas savoured the plushness of Nare’s lips and ignored the stinging knowledge that they would soon be parted once again. 

She gently leaned away from his lips, then kissed his cheek and his forehead. “Well, I’m not leaving yet,” she murmured. “You haven’t looked at my studies yet.”

He leaned back to look at her, surprised but pleased. “You aren’t too tired to look them over now? It is almost dinnertime.”

“I’m not tired at all,” she said. “And I’d love your opinion on my studies.” Then she smiled cheekily. “I didn’t just come here for the sex, you know.”

She was being facetious, of course, but her words made him feel worse in a strange way. Nare deeply valued their professional relationship, and the fact that she valued him so much as a supervisor made it very difficult for him to see a solution to their problem.

He shunted the unease aside for now. _That is a problem for another day,_ he told himself. For today, Nare was waiting for his advice with a smile on her face, and he couldn’t disappoint her.

“All right,” he said. “As long as you aren’t tired, I would be happy to look at your studies.” He turned his chair so they were facing his monitor and clicked on his mouse, and as he was pulling up the email she’d sent him at lunchtime, she playfully tapped his chest. 

“See, look at you helping me with my work right after we had sex,” she teased. “You really are a good professor.”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and she giggled. He patted her knee, then nodded his chin at the monitor. “Come, Nare, let’s focus.”

She grinned and looked at his monitor. It wasn’t long before they were immersed in an in-depth discussion of brushstroke technique and skin tones and values, and for a time, Solas was able to forget that there was a knife just waiting to enter his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Elvhen term _mi'nas'sal'inemah_ is, as always, from FenxShiral.
> 
> Next up: Athera POV!


	48. Serious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend! A very longgggg chapter for you guys.

###  ATHERA 

Athera was having a really good day.

It was Thursday, and the weather was… okay, the weather wasn’t great; it was a rainy kind of October early-fall morning, but the air had a nice fresh leafy smell. And it was ten o’clock already, which meant — sure, fine, it wasn’t _really_ close to lunchtime yet, but it was still closer to lunchtime than had been an hour ago. And when it _was_ lunchtime, she and Abelas would have their lunch together in his office like they’d been doing a couple of times a week, and they’d discuss the poetry that he’d read to her last night over the phone.

A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered their phone call last night. They’d been texting nightly for the past week, but last night he had called her to ask if she would join him for dinner on Saturday, which was super sweet. He could easily have asked her via text, but when she’d pointed this out to him, he’d said he preferred to call her for important matters. 

‘Important matters’, he said. He considered their dates to be ‘important matters’! Athera definitely thought their dates were important matters too, but to know _he_ thought they were important matters just made her feel like her heart was melting into goo. 

But the ‘important matter’ of their date wasn’t the thing that was making her all tingly — or not the only thing, in any case. It was the reading of the Elvhen poetry. 

Toward the end of their phone call, she’d started asking about his poetry and where he got his inspiration from, and he had told her he was hoping to get back into writing again. Athera had been so excited that she’d wheedled him into reading one of his poems to her, and after a brief hesitation, he had agreed. And gods, the sound of Abelas reading Elvhen poetry through the phone… 

Her belly bloomed with warmth at the memory. She’d only understood about half of the poem because she was so distracted by Abelas’s voice. He had the smoothest voice, mellow and even but expressive at the same time, like the perfect storytelling voice. The Elvhen language sounded so different in his Arlathani accent than in the usual Free Marcher Dalish accent she was accustomed to, more liquid and flowing somehow, and when he’d finished reading the poem, it was like his heightened accent carried over into the common tongue as they continued their conversation. And when they’d said goodnight, the way he said her name, with the softened vowels and that soft purr of an ‘r’? He just sounded so… the sound of his voice, Abelas saying her name in a low and intimate voice through the phone…

Okay, fine, she’d just come right out and admit it: after she and Abelas had hung up last night, Athera had touched herself while thinking about his voice. 

She blamed Nare for this. Nare had gotten her into this sexy-voices frame of mind by sending her those erotic ASMR audio clips on YouTube, and Athera had to sheepishly admit that she’d spent a couple of _satisfying_ before-bed hours listening to them. But now that Abelas had read Elvhen poetry to her with his voice all low and soft, Athera was ruined for the Youtube clips. None of the erotic clips, not even the most, um, _explicit_ ones, had made her feel the same nearly-unbearable weight of desire unfolding beneath her skin as she felt when Abelas spoke so innocently to her on the phone.

To be honest, she was feeling a little tiny bit guilty about this. Abelas had no idea that Athera had been getting horny over his voice while he was just trying to have a conversation with her. There he was, talking to her about his favourite poetry when he was young and how it had inspired him, and she’d just been imagining him lying in bed next to her and sliding his hand up her thigh, pushing up the hem of her nightgown and curling his big strong palm around her thigh… 

The fantasy sent a pulse of excitement to her groin, and she shifted a little guiltily in her office chair. She wasn’t _really_ ashamed of herself for masturbating while thinking about his voice, but she also wasn’t exactly proud of herself, especially since they’d only been on one date so far. It was way too early to be thinking about having sex with Abelas yet. Definitely too early to be wondering when they’d get a chance to do more than just kiss — not that his kisses were anything to scoff at. No, Abelas’s kissing was… gods, she had _never_ been kissed the way Abelas kissed her. The care embedded in his kiss, the thoroughness in his exploration of her mouth, the delicacy of his tongue and his lips and his hands cradling her neck… 

A heated drop of want trickled down her throat and swelled in her belly. _Anyway,_ getting back to safe-for-work non-dirty thoughts: she had a date with Abelas on the weekend to look forward to — just two sleeps away! — and they’d be eating lunch together soon and it was a nice fresh rainy October day, and Athera was so happy that she could dance. 

And so, there in her office while sitting at her desk and despite her half-open office door, Athera did just that: she danced along to her music. 

She started just by shimmying her shoulders in time to the beat. Then she started shifting her hips in time with shoulders. When she got up from her desk to fetch her tablet from her bag, the song she was listening to was just getting to the drop, and she couldn’t help herself: she full-out unabashedly started _dancing_ along to the chorus, twirling her hips and tossing her head and hopping around in time to the joy-filled lyrics. 

“Ather— oh.”

She squeaked in surprise and whipped around to face the door. 

Abelas was standing at the open door with his eyebrows raised so high that they were practically buried in his hairline. He looked so utterly gobsmacked that she couldn’t help herself: she burst into laughter.

His shocked expression softened into an uncertain little smile, and Athera giggled like an idiot and patted her hot cheeks. “Abelas!” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t expect — um, I didn’t see you there.”

“So I gathered,” he said. “I apologize. It was not my intention to, er, interrupt your exercise.”

She snorted in amusement. “I wasn’t exercising! I was just, um, dancing.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because it’s a great song and I feel great!” she chirped.

“I see,” he said. He was still watching her with a cautious sort of half-smile, like he wasn’t sure whether it would be polite if he laughed or not. 

_Of course he should laugh,_ Athera thought happily. She was being ridiculous, so there was no reason he shouldn’t laugh. 

A new song started playing through her computer speakers, and she perked up. “Ooh, this song is great too — don’t mind if I jam out to this one too.” She started dancing to the new song, but in a more playful goofy way in the hopes of making Abelas laugh.

He raised an eyebrow, but this did nothing to hide the curl of amusement at the corners of his lips. Encouraged by the hint of mirth in his face, she started mouthing along to the lyrics in an exaggerated way while she danced. 

His smile widened. Then, to her delight, he chuckled. 

Overcome with affection, she skipped over to him and grabbed his hand. “Dance with me!”

He recoiled slightly. “I beg your—? _No._ ”

“Come on!” she wheedled, and she tried to pull him into her office — a futile effort given that he outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. When he didn’t budge, she settled for swinging his hand while she continued to dance in a goofy way. 

He let out another precious chuckle, and Athera finally stopped dancing and squeezed his hand in both of hers. “I’ll get you to dance with me someday,” she panted. “You’ll see.”

“That won’t happen,” he said.

She lifted her chin boldly. “You sound awfully certain.”

“I _am_ certain,” he said. “Dancing in the workplace is unprofessional.”

Athera grinned. “Are you calling me unprofessional?”

“Yes,” he said. “You _are_ being unprofessional.”

He was smiling, and his golden eyes were soft and warm. Athera giggled, then gave him a coquettish look. “So are you saying that if we weren’t in the workplace, you would dance with me?”

“Not to music such as this,” he said with a disparaging glance at her computer.

She _tsk_ ed. “Oh come on, this is the perfect music for dancing!”

He gave her a pointed look. “The last time I danced to music like this was when I was about your age.”

“So you _have_ danced to music like this before,” she said shrewdly.

“I danced to music like this one time,” he said firmly. “It was hardly a habit of mine.”

She gave him a funny look. “Wait, seriously? You danced to this kind of music literally just _one_ time?”

“Once was enough,” he said primly. “Regardless, this is not the appropriate music for dancing.”

She gave him a teasing smile. “Okay, _hah’ren_. So you’re saying you would dance if the music was right?”

Abelas folded his arms. “It is possible that I could be persuaded to dance if the music was right.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know,” she said playfully. “I’m going to remember we talked about this.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said wryly. “In any case, there is… I have work to do, as do you.”

She giggled. “I hear you loud and clear. Getting back to work now.”

He nodded and smiled faintly as he stepped out of her office, and she chuckled as she returned to her desk. She clicked her mouse and was about to reply to some emails from prospective participants for Dagna’s study when Abelas appeared once more at her open door.

She looked up with a smile, and he ran his hand over his hair. “I… this was the reason I was at your door in the first place.” He stepped into her office and handed her a tidy sheaf of printed pages. “Suggested edits for the first section of your chapter.”

“Perfect, thanks! I’ll work on these tomorrow morning.” She reverently placed the pages in her to-do tray, then looked up at him once more. “Anything else?

“Not at the moment, no,” he said. But he made no move to leave her office. Instead, his warm golden eyes traced a slow and careful path from her eyes down to her lips. 

A thrill jolted through her belly. The way he was looking at her, the memory of his voice in her ear, how excited she was at the prospect of their upcoming date… 

She laughed out of sheer giddy good fortune, and Abelas smiled and took a step back. “All right, yes. Good,” he said, and he turned away and left her office. 

She grinned at his departing back. She checked the time, then did a happy little wiggle in her seat; in less than two hours, it would be lunchtime. Then she and Abelas could talk and flirt for an entire uninhibited hour. 

_I am having such a great day,_ she thought happily.

****************************

At 11:50, Athera remembered something unfortunate: she had to buy her lunch today. She usually brought lunch from home, but she and the girls had neither leftovers nor bread for making sandwiches at the apartment, so Athera was stuck grabbing something to eat from one of the places on-campus. 

She quickly sent Abelas a text to explain where she was going, then grabbed her coat and her credit card. If she nipped over to the café in the physics building next door, she could be back at the office in time for a solid forty-five minutes of lunchtime with Abelas.

A couple of minutes later, she stepped into the lobby of the physics building, then wilted slightly; there was already a lineup of about ten people waiting to get their lunches. She got into line, then stood there idly for a second, wishing she hadn’t left her phone at the lab. She should have anticipated that there might be a lineup and that she’d have to wait for a couple of minutes. 

She glanced around idly, watching the comings and goings of students and staff through the main area of the building. Then her eyes fell on the book that the dark-haired woman in front of her was holding.

Athera’s eyebrows shot up. The woman wasn’t holding a book, but a journal — an Arlathani archeology journal that Athera had only ever seen in the Ancient Elvhen studies lab or online by using the lab’s login information. An archeology journal that was only published in Elvhen. 

Intrigued, Athera’s eyes darted up to the woman’s face, and her curiosity was further piqued. The woman was a human! A human who was holding an Elvhen journal — specifically an Arlathani journal? Could she read Elvhen fluently? If so, maybe Athera knew her via email or the phone. Not that Athera expected to know every person on campus who spoke or read Elvhen, but Athera was pretty sure that by now she’d either met, emailed, or spoken on the phone with everyone at the U of Orlais who were interested in studying the ancient elves, since all of them had collegial ties with Abelas or Solas during their five years here in Orlais. 

She tapped the woman on the shoulder, and the woman turned to her with a frown. “Yes?”

“Hi!” Athera said. “Um, this might be an odd question, but — do you work with Professors Solas or Abelas?”

The woman’s bright golden eyes widened for a second before narrowing slightly. “In a manner of speaking,” she said. “And who, may I ask, are you?”

 _Yikes,_ Athera thought. Not exactly the friendliest start. She gave the woman her best I’m-nice-I-promise smile. “I’m Athera,” she said. “I’m the—”

“The new research coordinator for the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab, yes,” the woman interrupted.

Athera perked up. “Do we know each other, then? I mean — I expect we must’ve exchanged emails before.” She definitely hadn’t spoken to this woman on the phone. Athera would have remembered her distinctly wry and smoky voice.

The woman lifted her chin slightly. “I believe you have sent me documents on Professor Abelas’s behalf.” 

“Oh wow! So we have been in touch, then,” Athera said brightly. “It’s nice to meet you. Or—” She broke off with a little self-deprecating laugh. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask your name.”

The dark-haired woman surveyed her for a moment, and Athera had the odd sense that she was being sized up. Then the woman nodded slightly. “I am Morrigan.”

 _Morrigan?_ Athera’s stomach jolted. Morrigan was a professor in the archeology department. Athera had actually read some of Morrigan’s articles for her undergrad thesis, and she knew that Morrigan was the foremost expert in ancient Elvhen history at the University of Orlais — or at least, she had been before Solas and Abelas had arrived.

This was the reason Athera was feeling a little cautious now. She knew that Morrigan had something of a rivalry with Abelas and Solas, though she didn’t know the full extent of it — mainly because Abelas and Solas didn’t talk about Morrigan very much in front of her or the other members of the lab. What they _did_ say, however, was enough for Athera to know that they didn’t approve of Morrigan’s work or her attitude.

Morrigan huffed. “And now you have a face to match to your words when you speak ill of me with your colleagues. Give them my regards.” She started to turn away.

“Hey, hang on,” Athera said hastily. “I — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m honestly pleased to meet you. It really isn’t often that I get to put a face to the name of the people I send emails to.”

Morrigan glanced at her. “Allow me to guess: a human face is not one that you expected.”

“No, if I’m honest,” Athera said. She gave Morrigan a slightly pointed look. “Although if you’d introduced yourself right away rather than keeping me hanging, I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

“How do you mean?” Morrigan said suspiciously.

“I know your work,” Athera said. “I’ve read some of it.”

For the first time since they’d begun to talk, Morrigan’s face softened slightly. “You have read my work?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Athera said. “I wrote my undergrad thesis on the Vir’Abelasan. I read a number of your publications for my thesis. Your work actually formed the evidence base for one of my main arguments.”

Morrigan’s expression slackened further with surprise before growing somewhat haughty once more. “Such praise for my work. Be cautious that you do not express such sentiments in front of your colleagues. They most certainly would not approve.”

Athera let out a little laugh. “Well, actually, Abelas — er, Professor Abelas read my thesis, and he did approve it. A version of it is being re-written into a chapter for their upcoming anthology.”

Morrigan’s eyebrows leapt up. “Your — he—” She broke off and stared at Athera in surprise. Then her expression grew faintly bitter. “‘Tis an honour to be included in such a project. You have my congratulations.”

Her tone was distinctly chilly. Athera frowned at her, but more in thought than in anger. Now that she was thinking about it, it _was_ surprising that Solas and Abelas hadn’t asked Morrigan to contribute anything to their Arlathani history book. Sure, Morrigan’s focus was more on the post-Arlathani diaspora across Orlais than on Arlathan itself, but the diaspora was a hugely important topic of the post-Arlathani period, and Morrigan’s works were the most thorough outside of the University of Arlathan. It seemed odd that Morrigan hadn’t been asked to contribute… although now that Athera had met Morrigan, maybe it was less odd. The animosity that Solas and Abelas bore toward her was obviously mutual. 

Morrigan let out a brief and mirthless little laugh. “I must appear churlish to you. “Tis but a reinforcement of your pre-existing impression of me, I am sure.”

“You are a little churlish, yes,” Athera said carefully. “But I can see why.”

“Can you, now?” Morrigan said.

Athera chose to ignore her sarcasm. “Yeah, I can,” she said. “Before Solas and Abelas got here, you had done more work on the ruins in the Arbour Wilds than anyone. You really pushed hard to get access to those ruins, even though you only managed to get permission to access the outer courtyard.”

Morrigan clicked her tongue. “Prejudice, in my opinion.”

Athera gave her a chiding look. “You can hardly blame the administration down in the Dales, given the history of repeated human attempts to take the Arbour Wilds site.”

Morrigan shrugged and looked away. “I suppose.”

“Anyway,” Athera said doggedly, “my point is that I can see why you’re bitter.”

Morrigan shot her a suspicious look, and Athera lifted her shoulders. “Really, I can. I honestly always kind of wondered why Solas and Abelas didn’t work more closely with you, given your body of work.”

Morrigan gave her a humourless smile. “Are you new to the world of academia?”

Athera bristled a bit at her unflattering implication. “I don’t have a PhD, if that’s what you’re asking. But no, I’m not new. I’ve been involved in all parts of the research process since my undergrad.”

“It is not my intention to offend you,” Morrigan said. “It simply… admiration, one could say.”

“Admiration of what?” Athera said.

Morrigan smiled faintly — a slightly sad smile this time. “Your optimism. Your lack of cynicism. They are one and the same, I suppose.”

Athera relaxed. Being called optimistic was never something that Athera would take offense to.

She eyed Morrigan for a moment. “Do you want to work more closely with Solas and Abelas?”

Morrigan scoffed quietly. “If the past few years have proven anything, it is that what I want is of little consequence.”

Athera frowned in confusion. That was both bitter and cryptic. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Morrigan eyed her again — another appraising look, as though she was trying to determine whether Athera was genuine or not. “I find myself surprised that you do not already know.”

Athera shrugged. “Too much optimism and not enough information, I guess.”

Morrigan smiled faintly — her warmest smile yet. “So it seems.”

Athera smiled in return, then tilted her head. “Seriously though, would you want to work more closely with Solas and Abelas if you could?”

Morrigan didn’t answer right away; instead, she frowned at the journal in her arms before looking up at Athera once more. “My primary concern is the preservation of ancient knowledge. Legends walked these lands once: people of might and power. The humans who followed blundered through the world, crushing what they did not understand — losing pieces of history that can never be regained. I seek to stem the tide of what is lost, else we risk being left with nothing but mere scraps of what could be learned.” She shrugged elegantly. “If working with others serves that goal, then I might be willing to do so.”

The barista waved to Morrigan. She stepped forward to place her order, and Athera pondered her words as she waited for her turn to order. Morrigan’s goals were perfectly good ones: to preserve the knowledge of the past and recover what had been lost during the human-Elvhen wars. And really, her goals overlapped with Solas and Abelas’s goals, though their focuses would be different given Morrigan’s Orlesian specialization and Solas and Abelas’s Arathani focus. If their goals were so similar, why weren’t they working together? Morrigan was clearly too proud to say outright that she wanted to work with Solas and Abelas, but Athera could read between the lines: she was _willing_ to work with them. If that was the case, then why wasn’t she?

A barista gestured to her, and she stepped forward and ordered a grilled vegetable and halloumi sandwich and a cup of tea. Then she joined Morrigan, who was collecting her order from the cashier.

“Thanks for chatting with me,” she said to Morrigan. “I hope we’ll get a chance to work together in the future.”

Morrigan lifted her chin in that slightly haughty way of hers. Then she smiled faintly. “Likewise, Athera. ‘Twas most illuminating to meet you.”

Athera smiled at her, and Morrigan nodded a farewell before sashaying away. Athera collected her lunch, then hurried back to the Ancient Elvhen studies lab. 

She quickly hung her coat in her office, then took her lunch and knocked on Abelas’s office door. A moment later, Solas opened the door. 

“Hello, Athera,” he said with a polite nod. “Abelas and I were just finishing up. Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thanks!” she said. Solas closed the door behind him, and Abelas rose to his feet. 

“Athera,” he said, and he gestured politely to the couch, where they’d taken to sitting together for lunch.

She sat down with a smile, and he joined her with his lunchtime smoothie in hand. “I trust that the remainder of your morning was uneventful?”

She grinned as she unwrapped her sandwich. “Are you asking if I kept dancing for the rest of the morning? Because the answer is yes.”

He huffed in amusement. “I’m surprised you were able to get any work done if you spent your morning dancing.”

“On the contrary,” she said brightly. “I was being totally efficient by exercising and working at the same time. You should try it sometime.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If this your way of trying to convince me to dance in the workplace, consider it a failed attempt.”

Athera giggled. “You can’t say I didn’t try.” She took a bite of her sandwich and covered her mouth as she chewed, and Abelas smiled at her before sipping his smoothie.

As she ate, she wondered whether she should ask Abelas about Morrigan now, or save it until later. It was technically a work-related question, and as per her own informal rule, she and Abelas weren’t supposed to talk about work-related things at lunchtime. But she was so curious… 

“You appear preoccupied,” Abelas said.

She looked up. “Hm? Oh, it’s – I’ll ask you later.”

He gave her a quizzical look, and she waved her hand dismissively. “It’s a work-related question. Not good lunchtime chat.”

“Matters that cause you concern should not be shunted aside for later,” he said.

She smiled and playfully elbowed him. “Nice try. I’m not saying a peep until after lunch.” She took another bite of her sandwich.

He huffed again. “Stubborn.”

She grinned at him behind her hand, and Abelas smiled and sipped his smoothie again before speaking. “So I take it you enjoyed the poem last night.”

Her heart seized for a second. The poem, his voice, the ripples of pleasure fanning through her body as she touched herself while imagining his voice in her ear… why was he asking about the poem? Did he know what she’d — no, he couldn’t know, she was being stupid. 

“Uh, sorry?” she stammered.

He raised his eyebrows. “The poem that you asked me to read. You had me read it twice.”

“Oh!” she said. “Uh, yeah, haha, um–!” She cleared her throat and _wished_ her face would stop prickling with heat. “Yeah, I really — I really liked it. I…” She took a breath to gather her wits, then looked him in the eye. “To be honest, I didn’t understand all of it. I think there were just some words I’d never heard before, so I… it was about a mountain, right? Or the mountain was the main metaphor.”

Abelas nodded. “That is correct. I feared that you were having difficulty understanding, so I took the liberty to translate it.” He rose from the couch and went to his desk, then picked up a piece of paper. 

He returned to the couch and handed her the paper, and Athera eagerly read it:

> I saw a mountain too, its haughty peak  
>  and bunched spine vying with the worlds on high,
> 
> Deflecting every salvo of the wind,  
>  and shouldering the starlight from the sky,
> 
> Brooding above the dunes like some great thinker  
>  considering days to come as nights go by
> 
> With black clouds wrapped about it for a turban  
>  and bangs of redhead lightning in its face.
> 
> And through the night, that tongueless mountain uttered  
>  marvelous things.

She read the beautiful poem once, then more slowly a couple of times as she pondered its meaning. Beside her, Abelas shifted slightly on the couch. “Is it… is the prose pleasing to the ear?” he asked. “I cannot judge the aesthetics of the common tongue.”

Athera glanced at him with a tiny smile. “Yeah yeah, I get it, you hate the common tongue.”

He scoffed softly and took a sip of his smoothie. Then he nodded his chin at the paper. “Perhaps you should read it out loud.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Me? Why?”

“I read it to you in Elvhen,” he said. “It is fair that you return the favour in your primary language.”

She smiled at him. “Fair’s fair, huh? Not a bad point. Okay, just give me a sec...” She took another quick bite of her sandwich, then swallowed and cleared her throat before reading the poem out loud. 

When she was done, she looked up at him. “See, it sounds amazing even in…” She trailed off, and her heart did a little thump. Abelas was studying her with _that_ look, that serious and tender look that instantly scrambled her brain, and only now was she realizing how close together they were on the couch. His knee was grazing hers, and his arm was stretched out along the back of the couch behind her shoulders, and his face, his handsome face: it was just a few inches away. He was close enough that, if she tilted her head and lifted her chin, and if he just leaned in a little bit… 

Her heart pulsed between her legs. Breathless with desire and nervous excitement, she stared into his eyes. But she didn’t make a move to touch him, and neither did he. 

On an unspoken mutual agreement, they had decided not to do anything… inappropriate while they were at work, not even during their lunch breaks. Athera knew that Abelas preferred to keep their relationship low-key while at work, and Athera had no problem with this, especially since she quite enjoyed their tiny stolen moments of flirtation throughout the day. Besides, the thought of doing anything _intimate_ in the lab, where anyone could walk in at any minute? It was too risky to even consider. Definitely too risky to think about how soft Abelas’s lips were and how hot and sleek his tongue was when he was sliding it against the length of her own. Definitely, absolutely too risky to imagine how good it would feel to have that perfect tongue of his dipping carefully between her parted legs… 

Dizzied by a rush of unfulfilled want, she dropped her gaze to her lap and pressed her knees together hard. “Um, so…” She swallowed hard. “Th-the common tongue version, did you—?”

He lifted his hand and brushed the tips of his finger along her hairline, and Athera froze. 

Very gently, with the utmost delicacy, Abelas tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing the angle of her jaw as he finished the motion. Then he lowered his hand to the back of the couch once more.

“It appears that the common tongue may have some redeeming qualities after all,” he said softly.

She stared at him, dumbstruck and paralyzed with want. His serious expression was softened with a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips, and he was so muscular and handsome and _gentle_ , and the way he brushed her hair back behind her ear…

No gesture in the history of her life had ever been more of a turn-on than the way Abelas tucked her hair behind her ear. The deliberate slowness of his movement, the merest whisper of his fingers on her skin: it was the most erotic thing she’d ever experienced.

And the look on his face — the way he was studying her now, the intensity in his sunshine-golden eyes, the heated focus with which he was gazing at her: it was like the way she felt was reflected in his face, like his expression was mirroring the frantic pounding of her heart in her throat and her chest and low between her legs, and — gods, how was she supposed to survive this? How was she supposed to find herself faced with such beauty, and _not_ want to crawl onto his lap right now?

 _His lap._ As soon as the words crossed her mind, she made the mistake of dropping her gaze to his lap.

A rush of excitement ratcheted through her gut. He was — his cock, it — his _cock!_ The bulge, a clear obvious ridge in his slacks — oh gods, oh spirits and Creators, he was so big.

 _I want him._ Overwhelmed by a desperation that she could do nothing about, Athera looked away from him and let out a nervous little neigh of laughter. “Maybe we, um, should talk about something other than poetry,” she said.

“That would be wise,” he said.

Oh gods, oh no, he sounded a little breathless, and that hint of breathless need in his voice was _not_ doing her any favours. Heart pounding, cheeks flaming, she picked up her sandwich and took a huge bite — there was nothing less sexy than taking a huge bite of food, after all! — and while she hid her mouth and chewed, she glanced at Abelas. 

He was gulping his smoothie. When Athera looked at him, he lowered his bottle and met her eye. 

He smiled faintly, and Athera smiled goofily behind her hand. Oh shit, she was going to laugh, and her mouth was still half full of food. 

She forced herself to swallow, then burst out laughing. When Abelas started laughing as well, this only made it worse. 

She snorted, then clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh fu— I mean, oh shit.” She patted her hot cheeks. “Let’s talk about something else. Have I told you about the Hercinian drama I’m into at the moment?”

“Yes,” he said. “But you can tell me again. It is no burden to hear it again from you.”

She beamed at him and took another (smaller and more dignified) bite of her sandwich, and for the rest of their lunch hour, they talked about innocuous things like Athera’s current Hercinian drama and Abelas’s favourite nature documentary series, and Athera was almost able to put the image of Abelas’s thick hard bulge out of her mind.

_Almost._

When one o’clock rolled around, Abelas sighed. “All right. We should return to our duties.”

His expression was faintly regretful, and once again, Athera was struck by that uncanny sense of her own feelings being reflected in his face. “Yeah,” she said softly, and she stood up from the couch and smoothed out her top.

Abelas rose as well and headed toward his desk. “What did you want to ask me before?”

She looked up at him. “Hm?”

“The matter of concern that you refused to tell me during our lunch break,” he said wryly.

She straightened. “Oh, yeah! I met Morrigan at the café next door while I was buying my lunch.”

His face instantly fell into a frown, to her dismay. “Did she say anything offensive to you? If so, I will have a word with her when we meet tomorrow.”

“What? No,” Athera said blankly. “She — no, she didn’t say anything offensive. Actually, I was wondering — how come you and Solas don’t work with her?”

“I beg your pardon?” he said stiffly.

“We got to chatting a bit, and I was just wondering why you and Solas haven’t collaborated with her on something,” she said. “I know she’s got an interest in the Vir’Abelasan…”

She trailed off in alarm; his expression was darkening like an impending thunderstorm. He stood slowly from his desk. “What did she say about the Vir’Abelasan?”

“Uh, nothing, actually,” Athera said cautiously. “She… I was the one who brought it up.”

“What did you tell her?” he demanded.

Athera frowned. Why was he being so aggressive about this? “Nothing, really. I just told her that you had approved of my thesis to be modified and included in your and Solas’s history book.”

He folded his arms and scoffed. “She was envious, wasn’t she? She was envious that your respect for our culture earned you something that her greed and her trickery could not help her to obtain.”

“Hang on a second,” Athera said blankly. “You think she’s greedy?”

“She _is_ greedy,” Abelas retorted. “She is an intruder seeking to peel open the Vir’Abelasan as though it is a ripe fruit waiting to be plundered — to take its knowledge for her own glory and personal advancement.” 

He was pacing in agitation behind his desk now, and Athera watched him warily as she replied. “You think she’s in this for the glory? That’s not what she told me.”

“You don’t know her,” he said harshly. “You have met her only once. Solas and I have been butting heads with her for years.” He strode around the desk to face her. “She is like a spider, Athera: a dangerous creature that lingers on the outskirts of our work, waiting to trap us so she can reel in the most succulent pieces of ancient knowledge and suck them dry for the fame and recognition they will give her.”

Athera held up a hand. “So let me get this straight. You’re mad at her because she wants to be recognized for her work in studying the Well?” She was confused. Wasn’t this just what all academics — no, what all people in general — wanted? Due recognition for their work?

“The Vir’Abelasan is not for her,” Abelas snapped. “It is not for any of them.”

Athera recoiled slightly. That was a pretty elitist thing to say. “Any of who?”

He pursed his lips, and she lifted her chin. “Any of who, Abelas?”

“Anyone who is not a descendant of Arlathan,” he replied.

“How far descended does someone have to be before you decide that it’s not for them?” She kept her voice even, despite the agitation in her chest.

His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

She gestured at herself. “I’m Dalish. I’m not from Arlathan. Is the Vir’Abelasan not for the likes of me?”

He moved closer to her. “You are different,” he said sharply. “There is honour in your work. You respect the history that you have chosen to study.”

“That’s not what you thought when I first started working here,” she said.

He clenched his jaw, and Athera folded her arms knowingly. “You didn’t like me when I started working here. You saw me as an intruder too, even just in this lab. But you gave me a chance, and now… I mean, now look where we are.” With a jolt, she realized literally where they were: standing mere inches away from each other, with his broad shoulders looming over her as he glared down at her in that intimidating way — _if_ she found him intimidating.

She didn’t find him intimidating at all, though. Despite his scowl, his nearness only served to foster a flutter of excitement in her belly. 

She ignored the stupid fluttery feeling and gave him a pointed look. He took a small step back, and Athera released a slow breath and folded her arms. “I’m not saying you’re wrong about Morrigan, okay? I can’t say that, since I don’t know her. But…” She gave him a frank look. “She basically told me she wants to work together with you guys.”

“I don’t believe you,” Abelas said bluntly.

“She did!” Athera insisted. “I asked her outright, and she said that all she wants is to preserve the old knowledge and stop more of it from getting squashed out by other humans, and that if working with other people — like you guys — would help with that, then she’d do it.”

Abelas _tsk_ ed loudly, and Athera gave him a wheedling look. “ _I_ think you should try and work with her.”

“It is out of the question,” Abelas said sharply.

“Why?” Athera asked.

He pressed his lips together hard, then gave her a baleful look. “I find her disagreeable in the extreme.”

“I can see how you feel that way,” Athera said carefully. “She wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy with me at first. But I just kept being friendly, and by the end—”

He interrupted her. “Our differences in personality are not the only factor. There are… other factors at play.”

“Like what?” she asked.

He looked away from her, and Athera worriedly watched the muscles working in his jaw. “Like what, Abelas?” she said quietly.

He didn’t reply, and Athera’s gut started to churn — both at the fact that he wouldn’t talk to her, and with an odd sense of foreboding. What were these mysterious factors that were preventing Solas and Abelas from working together with Morrigan?

The silence stretched tensely between them. Then someone knocked on the door.

Athera jumped at the disturbance, and Abelas blew out a breath and ran his palm over his hair. “Enter,” he barked.

Solas opened the door. “Pardon the intrusion. I believe I left the…” He trailed off, and his eyes flicked between them. “I — I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?”

Abelas shook his head. “No—”

Athera cut him off and addressed Solas. “Why won’t you and Abelas work with Morrigan?”

Solas’s eyebrows leapt up. Beside her, Abelas dragged his palm over his hair again. “Athera, I don’t — this is not the time for this.”

“Well, _I_ think it is,” she retorted. “I’m your lab coordinator, which means it’s my job to coordinate collaborative efforts between our lab and others who have similar goals. If we could work on a project with Morrigan that would benefit both of our—”

“I said no,” Abelas barked.

She rounded on him. “You can’t say no without giving me a good reason! It doesn't work that way!”

“Even if we wanted to collaborate with Morrigan, which we do not, there is no point starting a project with her at this juncture,” Abelas bit off.

“What do you mean, no point?” she demanded. “Why not?”

He glanced at Solas as if for help, and Athera turned to look at Solas as well. “Seriously, why not start a project with her? I don’t understand.”

Solas didn’t reply. He was gazing at Abelas, and his expression was becoming strangely soft. 

Her stomach was starting to churn now. She turned back to Abelas, and her heart twisted; he was still frowning, but he looked more worried now than angry.

She took a breath, torn between wanting to comfort him and wanting to protect herself from this icky feeling of foreboding that their silent communication was giving her. “Seriously, both of you, what’s the problem?” she asked.

Solas sighed. “It is… complicated.”

She felt a pang of hurt at this. “You don’t think I’m capable of understanding something complicated?”

“No,” Abelas said. “That is not the issue.”

She looked at him. “So you don’t trust me, then.”

“No,” he said vehemently.

Her heart twisted. “ _No?_ ”

His face fell with dismay. “No, I — it is not that we don’t trust you. It is just — complicated.”

She stared at him in disbelief. Was he — no, not just him, but both of them: Solas and Abelas really weren’t going to tell her what this big complicated mysterious problem was with working with Morrigan?

She pretended her chest wasn’t hurting and folded her arms in a businesslike manner. “Look,” she said briskly, “I’m your research coordinator, and if I do say so myself, I do a pretty bang-up job here. But if you two won’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t do my job properly. More than that, if you won’t give me the information I need to do my job properly, then all I can really conclude is that you don’t respect me very much.”

Solas grimaced, and Abelas took a step toward her. “That is not true,” he snapped. “Athera, you know that is not true.”

She looked him squarely in the eye — his beautiful, luminous golden eyes. “Then tell me why you can’t work with Morrigan.”

He stared at her with the muscles clenching in his jaw, and Athera stubbornly returned his stare. He looked angry and worried, and she wanted to reach up and smooth the tension from his jaw, but her own heart was aching from the slight of his implied distrust. 

Solas broke the silence. “Abelas, Athera: I think you should take the remainder of the day off.”

She broke from Abelas’s intense gaze to look at Solas. “Huh?”

“Take the afternoon off. Paid, of course,” he said. “Abelas will explain everything to you.”

She frowned. Why did she need to take the afternoon off of work for Abelas to tell her stuff about her work? That made no sense. “But—”

“I insist,” he said firmly. “Abelas, that extends to you. I suggest you go for a walk; the weather has cleared up since this morning.”

“Are you certain?” Abelas said.

“Yes,” Solas said. “I’m certain.”

Abelas sighed, and to Athera’s surprise, he relaxed. “All right. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Solas said. “You are the program director; it is your prerogative to take the occasional afternoon off.”

Abelas scoffed. “It is not. That would be an abuse of power.”

Solas smiled, then gave him a pointed look. “Remember the favour I asked you on Monday.”

 _Favour?_ Athera wondered. She looked askance at Abelas, but he was frowning thoughtfully at Solas. He nodded silently, and Solas looked at Athera. 

His expression was kind and a little bit sad. “I will see you tomorrow,” he said.

“Okay,” she agreed, but she was confused. Why were the pair of them being so weird and secretive?

Solas headed back down the hall to his office, and Athera turned to Abelas once more. “So—”

He smoothed his palm over her hair and pressed his lips to the crown of her head, and she shut her mouth abruptly, her tummy full of butterflies once more. 

“Get your things,” he said quietly. “We will speak outside.”

“O-okay,” she stammered, and she headed obediently for her office. 

“Athera, wait,” he said.

She turned back to face him, and he held out a piece of paper for her: the common-tongue translation of the poem he’d read to her the night before. His expression was stern, but Athera could see a hint of softness in the tilt of his eyebrows.

She swallowed hard and took the paper. “Thanks,” she whispered, and she went to her office. 

With a rapidly beating heart, she put on her coat and gathered her phone and her tablet. Then, carefully, she slid Abelas’s translated poem into a page protector and tucked it into her bag to take it home. 

She stepped out of her office as Abelas was closing his own office door. He gestured silently for her to precede him, and she tried to take comfort from the feeling of his muscular bulk following her down the hall, but it was difficult to take much comfort from anything when he was being so quiet and _weird._

They left the lab in silence, and they made their way to the exit of the history building in silence. By the time they stepped outside, Athera couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

“What’s going on?” she burst out. “This whole ‘secret mystery conspiracy’ thing is cool in movies and stuff, but I’m really not feeling it right now.”

He exhaled and ran his hand over his hair, then ushered her down the stairs with a gentle hand at the small of her back. “Let us walk.”

She frowned as she followed him. “Seriously, Abelas, why couldn’t we talk about it in the lab? I mean, I’m fine with getting a random afternoon off for no reason, but there was stuff I was planning to do today. And if it’s work-related issue, I don’t see why—”

He cut her off. “It is not entirely work-related.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

He glanced at her, and her belly jolted; his expression was faintly apologetic. “Solas and I will be returning to Arlathan in three years’ time.”

A bolt of shock raced through her gut. She must have misheard. “What?”

“We will not be remaining here indefinitely,” Abelas said. “We will be relocating to Arlathan in three years.”

She stared at him. What? What was he saying? _What?_ “I… don’t understand,” she said faintly. “But…”

He continued to speak in a gentle voice as he ushered her along the sidewalk. “I told you previously that our positions are contracted — four year contracts, to be precise,” he said. “We have already renewed the contract once, and we are currently in the first year of our second contract.”

“But why don’t you — why would you _leave?_ ” she said plaintively.

“It was never our intention to settle here permanently,” he said. “We came as part of the first wave of Arlathani-Orlesian exchanges that were arranged about ten years ago, when my country and this one began forging their new economic and scientific agreements. It was never our intention to remain forever.”

“But — but the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab,” she said. “What’s going to happen to it?”

“It will be dissolved,” he said bluntly. “Our current projects will either be completed by then, or taken over by the University of Arlathan.”

 _What?_ she thought wildly. _What the fuck?_ “The University of Arlathan?” she said in disbelief. “What — why — what do they have to do with anything?”

“Solas and I are tenured at the University of Arlathan,” he said. “We are here on an exchange agreement. When we return to Arlathan, our work will be reabsorbed by our home university.”

“B-but… but so many of your projects are tied to Orlais,” she protested. “The — the entire Vir’Abelasan is in in the Dales! It’s — the site you’ve spent half your life studying is in the opposite direction from Arlathan! How can you leave when that entire site is here?”

“Staff from the University of Arlathan will relocate directly to a research outpost in the Arbour Wilds,” Abelas said.

She raised her eyebrows, briefly distracted by this. “Seriously? That’s — wow, what an opportunity. Merrill would give an arm and a leg for…” She trailed off as something occurred to her— something awful. 

“Merrill,” she breathed. “And Dagna. And Nare! What — what about them? What about the students?”

“They will all be finished their degrees in three years’ time,” Abelas said.

“So what?” Athera exclaimed. “They _love_ your lab. Nare has learned so much from Solas already, and Merrill and Dagna want to keep working for you when they finish their degrees. And what about Tamlen? He wants to do his Master’s degree with you! He’s been planning on it!”

“I am aware,” Abelas said. He sighed and smoothed his hand over his braid again. “Athera, I—”

“Oh,” she said.

He looked at her. “What is it?”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, my gods.” She’d just realized something else — something that should have been the first thing she thought of when he’d told her this terrible news.

She looked up at him. “I’m going to lose my job.”

His face creased with regret, and Athera’s heart sank. Her job, this dream job that she’d worked toward for so long and had finally achieved: in three years’ time, it was going to be gone.

Her ears were ringing, and her head felt muddled with a surreal feeling of disbelief. This was — this was… no, it was ridiculous. This wasn’t happening. This day had started off with so much promise, and now she was standing here finding out that the job she loved so much already had a death sentence on it?

Abelas took her hand. “Athera, I… _ir abelas._ I am sorry that we — that _I_ did not tell you sooner.”

She pulled her hand away, suddenly incensed. “How can you do this?” she hissed. “How can you leave? The — the work you’re doing, the courses you and Solas are teaching, the history you’re sharing with us — with everyone! How can you just back out and take that away?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Athera…”

She ruthlessly pushed on. “Do you even know how many people you’ve inspired?” she demanded. “How many elves have felt empowered by the information you’ve been sharing about our history? _Our_ history, Abelas,” she snapped. “We all came from Arlathan once upon a time, but we didn’t have that history for so long because Arlathan was all insular and stuff, but — gods, you’re going to undo all of that by just leaving? How can you do this?”

“This is our duty,” he said loudly. “It is our responsibility to return to our home, once we’ve fulfilled our task.”

She frowned, confused once more. “Task? What task?”

He took a deep breath. “We have been tasked with securing exclusive rights to the study of Vir’Abelasan for the University of Arlathan.”

A fresh lance of shock ratcheted through her body, as surely as if he’d punched her. “ _What?_ ”

“We have an agreement with Vivienne de Fer,” he said. “She’s the Dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sci—”

“I know who Vivienne de Fer is,” Athera snapped. 

Abelas nodded. “We have an agreement with her. We pulled in a set amount of funding and attention during our time here to elevate the profile of the school, and in exchange, she brokered an agreement between the Dales and Arlathan for scholars from the University of Arlathan to be the sole academics to access the site.”

She gaped at him. “Why… why would you do that?”

“Because the site at the Arbour Wilds is ours,” he said firmly. “It belongs to the elves, not to these interloping humans who would fumble and misinterpret what they find.” He pointed emphatically at her. “ _This_ is the reason that Solas and I cannot work with Morrigan. She seeks access to the Vir’Abelasan — more access than she has already garnered, that is. But in three years’ time, she will no longer have the privilege of accessing any part of it, because she is tenured to the University of Orlais.”

She stared breathlessly at him, completely disoriented by what he was saying. She’d always known he was kind of snobby about humans and non-Arlathani cultures in general, but — but to be this exclusive? To make it so that nobody except for Arlathani academics could study one of the most famous and historically rich Elvhen sites in the entire continent? To obstruct the ability for elves in Orlais and the Free Marches and the Dales and _everywhere_ aside from Arlathan to learn about themselves? How could he… how _could_ he?

A sharp ache of pain bloomed behind her sternum. _No,_ she thought. No, he couldn’t… this wasn’t Abelas. This wasn’t _her_ Abelas — her thoughtful, protective, romantic Abelas. He wasn’t a knowledge-hoarding totalitarian monster. He… he couldn’t be. 

“Is this really what you think?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“That no one except the Arlathani elves should have access to the Vir’Abelasan,” she said. “That they should be the only ones to learn from it. Is that really what you think?” She gestured at him. “I mean, you’re a teacher. You’re — you’re a professor of literature and history, for fu— for spirits’ sake! Do you really think no one else is deserving of the knowledge that can be gained from the Well of Sorrows?”

He shook his head as though _she_ was being unreasonable. “We were given this task, and it is our duty to complete it. How I feel about it is irrelevant.”

“That’s not — it _is_ relevant!” she cried. “It’s relevant to me! Tell me the truth, is this really how you feel?”

He clenched his jaw before replying. “Knowledge is a precious resource. It should be treated with care and respect. People like Morrigan—”

“Forget Morrigan, okay?” she yelled. “Forget Morrigan for a second. It’s a yes or no question. Do you believe that Arlathani elves are the only ones who deserve to learn from the Well of Sorrows?”

He scowled at her, and she waited tensely for him to reply. Finally, his answer left him on a sigh. “No. That is not my belief.”

She relaxed and let out a shaky breath. If he had said ‘yes’, she… honestly, she didn’t know what she would have done.

He was still speaking. “But that does not mean that I want anyone and everyone having access to the Vir’Abelasan. It should be approached with the proper respect and a proper understanding of the background of the site, the history underlying its establishment back in the Glory Age, and Morrigan — humans in particular, they tread upon that hallowed ground without care for those who came before, and _that_ is something I do not condone.”

“Okay, I see your point,” she said. “I see what you’re saying, but — Abelas, if you don’t agree with this task you were given, why are you doing it?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “I told you the reason why. It is my duty. It is my responsibility to my homeland.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Who gave you this duty, exactly?” she said.

“A woman named Mythal,” he said.

“Mythal?” she said. Then the name resonated in her brain. “Do you mean—”

“The primary proponent of the cultural revolution that happened ten years ago, yes,” Abelas said. “She was also a mentor of mine, and Solas’s guardian.”

“Guardian?” Athera said. “Wait, like his legal guardian?”

“Yes,” Abelas said.

She blinked in surprise. This was news. Athera had no idea that Solas was adopted. 

Then something else twigged in her mind. “Wait, you said ‘was’? What — did something happen to her?”

“Yes,” Abelas said. “She passed away a year before we moved here.”

“Oh, shit. I mean, shoot,” Athera said hastily. “Um, I’m—” She grimaced and squeezed his arm. “I’m really sorry, Abelas.”

“Thank you,” he said. “In any case, it was she who gave Solas and I this task, and it was her dying wish that we fulfill it, so fulfill it we must.”

She frowned. Abelas’s late mentor and Solas’s late adoptive mom had told them to get a lockdown on Vir’Abelasan so nobody else could benefit from it?

There was so much to unpack here that it was making her dizzy. “I need to sit down,” she said. “Can we sit down?” She looked around distractedly. She hadn’t even been paying attention to where they were going. As it turned out, they’d been heading east, and had actually passed straight by her apartment and were heading toward Parc Lafontaine.

“Come on, let’s go sit in the park,” she suggested.

He nodded, and they made their way to the park in silence. They entered the park and headed toward a bank of benches that overlooked the lily pond, and with a pang, Athera remembered the last time they’d been here, during their first date: how dreamy and besotted she’d felt, holding his big warm hand and chatting about little things and hoping that he would kiss her at the end of the day. And now, to think they’d be sitting down to discuss his departure in three years’ time… 

Her eyes pricked with tears. _Stop being dramatic,_ she scolded herself, and she bit the inside of her cheek as they approached the benches.

Abelas gestured gallantly for her to sit, and her heart pulsed painfully at the inherent sweetness of the gesture. He sat beside her, close enough to touch but not actually touching, and the scent of his now-familiar cologne made her throat thicken.

She stared fixedly at the smattering of lily pads in the pond. When the lump in her throat had ebbed to a faint but tolerable ache, she spoke. “This is the real reason you never felt at home here, isn’t it? You knew all along that you were going to go back, so there was no point settling in.”

“That is true in part, yes,” he said.

His voice was softer now — soft and a little bit sad. Athera nodded, and a tear slid down her face.

Horrified, she quickly turned her head away and pretended to scratch her eyebrow, wiping away the treacherous tear in the process. Then Abelas spoke again. “If you no longer wish to be involved with me, I will understand.” 

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Stricken, she looked at him. “Are — you’re breaking up with me?”

His eyes widened. “No,” he said. “No, I — Athera, _no_. I simply meant that if _you_ — if _you_ were inclined to terminate our relationship, I would understand your reasoning.”

“Do you want me to break up with you?” she said painfully.

“ _No_ ,” he said harshly. “I — that is not…” He exhaled slowly and rubbed his forehead, then looked her in the eye. “The reason you are privy to all of this is because I do _not_ want to break up with you. But I could not continue our relationship in good conscience without telling you the truth: that I will likely be leaving Orlais in three years’ time.”

Her ears perked. “‘Likely’?”

He frowned. “Pardon?”

“You said ‘likely’,” she pointed out. “So there _is_ a chance you might stay?”

His frown deepened. “Wha— no. That… no. I will be leaving in three years' time.”

“Is there any chance at all that you and Solas would reconsider?” she said.

He wilted slightly. “Athera…” 

“Seriously!” she said. “Isn’t there even a little possibility that you’d consider staying here and maintaining the Ancient Elvhen Studies lab?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Did Solas tell you to say this?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“He asked me the same thing earlier this week,” Abelas said. “To imagine a scenario in which we remained in Orlais. But I told him—”

Athera shamelessly jumped on this. “ _Is_ there a scenario where you could imagine staying here?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “I have a duty to fulfill in Arlathan. I cannot stay here.”

“But…” Athera faltered and tried to phrase her question in a way that wasn’t completely rude. When Abelas’s brows furrowed even more, however, she gave up. “Okay, I don’t have a tactful way to say this, really,” she confessed. “But… Mythal passed away years ago. Are the wishes of a… a person who isn’t with us anymore — are her wishes really more important than yours?”

He wilted. “Why do I feel as though I am speaking to Felassan now?” he complained. “Are the three of your conspiring against me? Sending messages amongst yourselves that I am not privy to? I resent that did not receive the memo.”

She laughed at this. Then, for some reason, she just kept laughing. She wasn’t sure why exactly, because the situation was far from funny. But his indignation and his snark were so… god, why did he have to be so cute when he was annoyed?

Abelas scowled. “I fail to see the humour in this situation.”

“So do I,” she giggled. “It’s—” An inelegant little snort escaped her. “It’s seriously not funny.”

He eyed her disdainfully as she continued to chortle. “It is a shame that I am not a nurse,” he said. “Otherwise I would consider giving you a sedative.”

His tone was so acidic that she couldn’t help it: she laughed even harder, and soon she was laughing so hard that she could barely catch her breath.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Athera…”

“I know, I’m sorry!” She snickered as she dabbed her watering eyes. “I just… you’re so f-funny sometimes.”

He huffed and folded his arms. “Yours in a singularly unique opinion.”

She grinned at his grumpy face. Then, overcome by the emotional ups-and-downs of the past thirty minutes, she hugged him around the neck. 

He tensed for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer on the bench as he did. His arms were so big and strong and he smelled so nice, like sweet woodsy cologne and warmth and _Abelas_ , and her throat was suddenly swollen once more.

She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to his neck. He tightened his embrace, then smoothed one palm over her hair.

“I am sorry to hurt you with this news,” he murmured.

She swallowed hard. “It’s… it’s not _okay_ , exactly, but… thank you for telling me.”

He leaned away from her and looked her in the eye. “It was never my intention to break up with you,” he said. “I want that to be clear. The reason I told you this at all was because my intentions for you — my intentions _with_ you are serious.”

Her belly leapt, and Abelas went on. “I am a serious man, Athera, and I wanted you to know the truth of my plans before our involvement became… more serious.”

“More serious?” she said.

He raised his eyebrows slightly, and Athera’s heart jumped. “Oh, you mean — oh. _Oh._ ”

 _Sex,_ her stupid brain yelled. _Sex sex sex. He’s talking about SEX!_

_Shut up,_ she scolded herself, but it was too late; her heart was galloping in her chest and her cheeks were getting warm, and when she tried to speak, a stupid giddy little laugh burst from her lips instead.

 _Fuck my life,_ she thought, and she pressed her lips together hard. Abelas’s expression softened, and he gently squeezed her hand. “There is no need to speak of this yet if you aren’t ready—”

“No,” she blurted. “No no, it’s okay, we can — I want to — we should talk about it, you’re right. I’ve been thinking ab— I mean, yeah, we should talk about it.” She closed her mouth again before her stupid runaway tongue could blurt out that she’d masturbated while thinking about his voice. 

He smiled faintly. “Good. Perhaps we can speak more of this on Saturday, then.”

She nodded eagerly, and Abelas sighed and sat back on the bench. “I admit, I am deeply relieved. I have been wanting to tell you about this for some time.”

“For how long?” she said.

“Three weeks, give or take,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Three weeks? But we haven’t been dating that long.”

“That is true,” he said quietly. 

Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird. “You wanted to tell me this big truth for weeks before we were dating?” she said faintly.

He lifted his shoulders. “I told you: I am a serious man. I can only hope that this doesn’t deter you.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Not at — gods, no. It’s — I love that your heart is on your sleeve.”

He wrinkled his nose slightly. “I would hardly say that my heart is on my sleeve.”

She laughed. “It totally is. Everyone in the lab knew we were dating on the same day it happened, and it wasn’t just because my dumb face turns red so easily.”

“Do not insult your blushing,” he scolded. “It is charming.”

She chose to ignore this. “Your heart is totally on your sleeve,” she insisted. “I think it just takes a while for you to, like, feel it out and figure out where your heart lies. Then you definitely put your heart on your sleeve.”

His skeptical expression softened with surprise, and Athera grimaced slightly. “What, am I totally off base?”

“No. I’m simply...” He trailed off and continued to stare at her. The look on his face was so intensely focused, like he was seeing something marvelous in her face that he’d never seen before, and his focus was enough to make her feel a little jangly.

She smiled shyly. “Well, since you told me—”

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. Her breath hitched in surprise, and when she parted her lips, he delicately traced his tongue over her lower lip. 

It was a light brush of the tongue, like the gentlest caress, but it was like he’d hit a trigger for some deep and primal impulse in her body: suddenly she was flooded with sensation, like her skin was humming with electricity, and blood was roaring in her ears and at the juncture of her thighs. When Abelas sealed his lips firmly over hers, the feelings only grew worse — better? No, worse, because she couldn’t do anything about them. She was lost in him, lost in his thorough and hungry kiss, lost in the feel of his hands on her face and his tongue sensually stroking hers. When he eventually pulled away, she felt swollen with lust, like a ripe cherry fit to burst with sweetness.

He stroked her cheekbone with his thumb, and Athera stared besottedly into his melted-butter-and-sunshine eyes. He was so thoughtful and snarky and beautiful and she wanted him so badly, and their date was a whole entire endless two days away, and…

And he’d dropped a work-related bombshell on her today that she really, _really_ couldn’t just ignore.

She took a deep breath to calm her screaming libido. “I… can’t believe I’m going to say this, but… I have a couple things I want to say about work.”

He blinked at her. Then a slow and heart-pounding smile curled his lips. He laughed, and the rare and precious sound was almost enough to make her clamber onto his lap right here in this public park.

She closed her eyes and inhaled shakily. “Please, Abelas,” she begged. “Just let me say this while I have enough of a brain to actually think.”

He chuckled, then released her face and squeezed her hand. “Speak your concerns, then.”

“Okay,” she said. She took another bracing breath, then looked him in the eye. “I think you should tell the others in the lab what you told me today. They deserve to know just as much as me, and they’re going to be just as disappointed as I am.”

His smile faded, and he nodded. “You’re correct. And we are planning to tell them. That is why I asked you to coordinate a meeting for our lab within the next two weeks.”

“Oh, is that why?” she said keenly. “Okay. I’m still waiting for Merrill and Felassan to get back to me, but — okay, good.” She tapped his arm. “The other thing I was thinking: you’re meeting with Morrigan tomorrow, right? At two o’clock?”

A faint frown puckered the space between his eyebrows. “Yes.”

“I want to come to the meeting,” she said.

His frown deepened. “For what purpose?”

“Because I think there’s a lot of potential there—”

“You are wrong,” he said flatly.

She went on as though he hadn’t spoken. “…and I want to see what happens during your meetings. She didn’t seem greedy when I spoke to her. A little haughty, maybe, but not greedy.”

He straightened with indignation. “Our history with Morrigan is lengthier than the time that you have been working in academia. You conversed with her for the duration of time that it took to purchase a sandwich.”

She scowled at him. Why was everyone taking hits today at how long she’d been working on research? “So you _don’t_ trust my judgment, then?”

“What I hear is that _you_ do not trust mine,” he retorted.

That’s not true,” she argued.

“And it is not true that I do not trust yours,” he said.

They glared at each other for a moment. Then Athera exhaled slowly and unfolded her arms. “How about this, then? I won’t come to your meeting tomorrow. But I want to come to the next one.”

He lifted his eyes to the sky in exasperation. “Athera—”

“Hear me out!” she pleaded. “I’ll come to the next meeting, but before then, you can tell me everything you think I should know about Morrigan. How you first got in touch, whether you tried to work on anything together in the past, your emails back and forth—”

“How she has insulted and belittled us and obstructed our goals?” he said in a hard tone. “Do you wish to know of that as well?”

Athera raised her eyebrows. “She…? Uh, yes. I absolutely want to know about that.”

“Why do you want us to get involved with her?” Abelas complained. “To what end? We are leaving in three years.”

 _We’ll see about that,_ Athera thought, but she didn’t say this. Instead she said, “Three years is a long time, Abelas. You could complete a well-defined small-scope project in three years, especially with the surplus of funding you guys have.”

“Funding that Morrigan resents us for,” he retorted.

“Funding that she likely would’ve won before you guys got here, if we’re honest,” she pointed out. “And she probably wouldn’t resent you if you worked on something together.”

He sighed loudly and folded his arms. “You are being stubbornly and obnoxiously optimistic about this.”

“You know what, I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said firmly. “Look, just tell me everything you can about your relationship with her, let me come to one single meeting, and if things go as badly as they have for the past five years, then I’ll let it go, I swear.”

He grunted. Athera shuffled closer to him on the bench and gave him a pleading look. “Will you consider it at least?” she said. 

He shot her a disgruntled look, then grunted again and unfolded his arms. “Fine. I will consider it.”

She perked up. “Great! Well then, let’s get — oh shit, I forgot that Solas told us to take the rest of the afternoon off.” She laughed. “I was going to say we should head back to the office.” 

Abelas huffed, then gave her a sideways glance. “I am slightly offended that he thought we would require an entire afternoon to discuss this.”

“I know, right?” Athera said brightly. “We’re pretty good at this whole ‘balancing a relationship with a colleague’ thing, if I do say so myself.”

“Yes, we are,” he said.

Athera smiled at the pride in his tone, then patted his arm. “I guess we could just go back to the office. There were some things I wanted to get done.”

“I had some editing that I was hoping to finish, as well,” Abelas said.

Athara nodded, but neither of them moved. A few loaded seconds later, Athera smiled up at him. “It’s kind of nice to have a random afternoon off, though.”

He looked down at her. “Yes, it is.”

His lips were curled in a faint hint of a smile, and his eyes were bright and warm. Athera beamed at him, then tilted her chin up entreatingly. 

His tiny smile widened, and he brushed his nose to hers before taking her lips in a kiss. The kiss was gentle this time, a sweet and gentle press and pull of affection from his lips to hers with only the merest hint of tongue. And yet, still, Athera could feel the thrum setting into her skin, coming to life in her blood and setting up a small but insistent pulse between her legs…

He cradled her neck in his palm, and the touch of his hand on her neck drew an instinctive gasp from her throat, forcing her to break their kiss. 

He brushed his nose to hers, and Athera dragged in a tremulous breath. “Do you want to… do something?” she murmured.

“What did you have in mind?” he said huskily.

Her horny one-track brain summoned a fleeting but scorching fantasy: her own naked body sprawled and arching on her bed, Abelas’s hot and greedy mouth gliding up over her ribs toward the dusky pearl of her nipple… 

Spirits, her cheeks were getting hot. He traced her heated cheek with his thumb and smiled slowly at her: a soft but knowing sort of smile.

Athera smiled helplessly back at him. She had no doubt that he knew what she was thinking. She also had no doubt that he wouldn’t suggest it himself, not without having a conversation about it — the conversation that loomed promisingly over their upcoming date, like a succulent piece of almost-ripe fruit that neither of them yet dared to pluck. 

She could bring it up now, though. Tell him right now that she was ready to have sex with him — maybe even today. Maybe right now, at her apartment! They did have this whole afternoon off, after all!

But somehow, even as the thrilling thought struck her, she discarded it. She didn’t want to rush this. She didn’t _want_ her first time with Abelas to be a fast and thoughtless fuck on some random Thursday afternoon. Sex with Abelas was a serious matter, a serious and special occasion with a serious and special man, and despite how much she _wanted_ him, she wanted the occasion to match the man just as much.

She took a deep breath. “Do you… want to go to the Royal Orlesian Museum with me?” she whispered. “U of O staff get a discount on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.”

His smile widened, and he chuckled — a soft, rolling, vibrant little laugh that made her want to melt. Then he rose from the bench. “I would be honoured to visit the museum by your side,” he said, and he held out a hand.

She beamed at him and took his hand. A moment later, they were strolling hand-in-hand in the direction of the museum, and she was so happy with Abelas’s company and his strong fingers wrapped around hers that she was able to put his three-years-from-now departure out of her mind — for now, at least. 

She refused to get too worked up about it. Three years was a long time, after all, and a lot could happen in three years’ time — hell, a lot could happen in a single month’s time. A month ago, she and Abelas had just barely reached a tentative truce from a collegial perspective. Now, they were strolling through the park on a lovely autumn afternoon while anticipating their second date in two days’ time — a second date when they would explicitly (ha, _explicitly_!) discuss the delicious tension that was building and thickening between them with every moment they spent alone together.

A highly-anticipated second date when Athera and Abelas would talk about finally getting _serious._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Morrigan appears! Also: [chanting] UST! UST! 👏💦
> 
> Abelas's poem is, once again, adapted slightly from [a beautiful real poem by Ibn Khafaja called _The Mountain_](https://gist.github.com/ampersarnie/244022ac438e5eacf65e126b5d708c12).
> 
> Next up: Tamaris and Felassan POV!


End file.
